The Rising Tide: A Hunger Games AU Fict
by Fuzzy Cheese Productions
Summary: Set in during the 28th Hunger Games, things of have progressed quite differently for Panem, for the last three games there has been multiple victors. First four, then a pair of two twice. With the 28th Hunger Games approaching it becomes clear that even this was a part of the President's plan. What's his end game? How will the Resistance fair? Only time will tell.
1. Pre-Reaping - The Capitol

**Title: **The Rising Tide - A Hunger Games AU Fict

**Rating****: **PG-13 (Right Now), R in later chapters (for adult content, adult language, & violence)

**Author(s)****: **Quinntalon, Lite, & CuteLikeMurder of Fuzzy Cheese Production/Publishing

**Disclaimer****:** We do not own the rights to the Hunger Games Series by Suzanne Collins. This work is purely for entertain purposes and no money will be made from this fict.

**Authors' Note****: **This is actually an AU fict based on a AU RPG that can be found on Roleplay Central. You may notice that the beginning

**Dedication: **To the folks over at RPC (Role Playing Central) and the writers of the Hunger Games RPG there. It's been almost two years and it's been a blast writing with each and every one of you.

**Summary: **Before Finnick Odair, there was Jan Colton, a volunteer from District Nine that could melt the coldest of hearts with a smile. Before Peeta Mellark, there was Jace Colton, Jan's twin brother who won the first Quarter Quell on accident. Before Katniss Everdeen, there was Aurora Noland, a tribute from District Seven who dared to hope for better days. Each became victors. Each were thrown back into the hell they fought so hard to escape from. And each found themselves used as tools for the rising tide of revolution. A change is coming for Panem. Love live the Resistance.

Set in during the 28th Hunger Games, things of have progressed quite differently for Panem. For the last three games there has been multiple victors. First four, then a pair of two twice. With the 28th Hunger Games approaching it becomes clear that even this was a part of the President's plan. What's his end game? How will the Resistance fair? Only time will tell.

* * *

**Severus Cato: **Age 58, Head Gamemaker  
_"I think my personal signature is a throwback to the true spirit of the Games."_

_He had waited most of his adult life for this moment. This was his reward for all of his years of faithful service; through the Dark Days, through the reconstruction period, and finally the birth of the Hunger Games._

_He had been a young man then, full of lofty ideals. All he wanted was to make a Panem safer. He thought he was saving the world. The Games was a way to squelch rebellion, yes, but also serve as a cathartic release for the Capitol's citizens that had been the most affected by the Uprising. Maybe some people even thought that the Hunger Games was too lenient of a punishment. Scorch the Earth and piss on the ashes. That sort of thing._

_He was no such man. He had grown up in a moderately successful Capitol family. Old money, his father would say. But that didn't change the fact that due to his father's shoddy investments, they had no money by the time he was old enough to claim his family inheritance. Which is why he had joined the President's staff. It was a chance to earn his keep but also gain make some of his lost prestige._

_He told people that he had been in the room when the President had come up with a way to punish the Districts and at the same time spare them. But that was a lie retold so many times that there was hardly anyone left alive that knew the truth. That being said when he found out about it he had pleaded to be assigned to help in any way he could._

_The design of the first Arena… that had been his brainchild._

_Now, it was 25 years later. And he had seen a lot of victors get crowned in that time. The Hunger Games took all kinds and the Victors mirrored that diversity. Of course three districts rose above the rest. Standing together to give the people what they truly wanted…_

A grand, bloody spectacle.

_And during the first 24 games they had given the people what they wanted. Death, destruction, emotional turmoil. The rivers ran red with the blood of the fallen. And they had died for a good cause; to ensure peace and prosperity for all. Right?_

_But he'd never forget what happened when one gave these mongrels a hand, they'd take the whole arm._

_He always swore if he was put in a position where he could make a real difference, he'd never allow them an inch._

_"The President will see you now, Gamemaker Cato," the president's secretary told him and a high pitched voice._

_The Gamemaker nodded and with a sly grin he said, "Please, call me Severus."_

_The secretary smiled back, her purple skin reddening at his words. He stood, straightened out his lavishly embroidered coat, threw a wink at her as he passed by the desk and walked through the double doors into the office of the President of Panem._

_"Mr. President, allow me to say what an honor and a pleasure it is to be asked to meet with you," Severus said with a slight bow. Be polite. Always be polite. People had disappeared for less offensive behaviors. So he'd have to be cautious._

_"Severus, I assure you the pleasure is all mine," the President said, pointing to a chair in front of his desk. Severus took a seat and studied the man for a moment. He gotten older, despite the youthful sheen to his pale skin. He should have been a white haired old man, but he didn't look the part. His hair black, slicked completely back. His eyes were two dark little dots in the center of his face. The skin on his face had that leathery look. Too many face lifts and too many chem peels._

_"Do you know why I've called you down here, Severus?" the President asked._

_He had a few ideas. "I have no clue, sir."_

_The President smiled. "Well, you might not have heard but the previous Head Gamemaker, Mr. Aurelius Nervo has been… let go from his contract. This leaves us with a vacancy."_

_Severus schooled his face. He wore a blank mask. Nothing he did gave away how truly excited he was right now._

_"How long have you been working with the Games?" the president asked._

_"I've been here since the beginning, sir," he replied._

_The President smiled. "Ah, yes. The good ole days." He paused, looking into Severus' eyes. "What were your thoughts on the Quarter Quell?"_

Tactful. Be tactful._ "'To remember the sacrifices made by heroes during those Dark Days, we honor the sacrifice of the former tributes and victors of the Hunger Games. In addition to the Reaping, one child of Reaping age related to a former victor or tribute shall enter the Arena.' _

_"It was a wonderful concept."_

_The President frowned. "I feel like there is an however missing from that statement."_

_Severus smiled. "No, sir, Mr. President."_

_"Severus, please. Let's promise never to lie to one another. How did you honestly feel about the Quarter Quell?"_

_He was hesitant at first. Severus had found that those that demanded truthfulness rarely wanted to hear it. Still, what would happen if he didn't answer honestly?_

_"It was a… disappointment, Mr. President," he replied._

_The President nodded. "And the multiple victors?"_

_The Gamemaker took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's a slippery slope, Mr. President. First it's a four victors. Soon every year we send more and more home. It doesn't capture the essence of the games. It's true spirit. Having a victor is a good thing. Having too many… they could be more trouble than they're worth, Mr. President."_

_The President nodded again. "I agree, Severus. Too much of a good thing could be damaging. It could also be used an effective governing tool. While the people of the Districts are rejoicing their multiple victors, they'll turn a blind eye to other exploits.."_

_"What other exploits, sir?"_

_"Oh, no Severus. I cannot divulge all of my secrets during our first meeting."_

_"First meeting, sir?"_

_"Yes, Severus. The first of many. You will have to meet often with me as the newly-appointed Head Gamemaker."_

_He grinned. "Of course, sir. Thank you, sir."_

* * *

"So this is your third Hunger Games as Head Gamemaker," the sea-green haired man, sitting across from him. He was leaning forward, showing great interest in everything that he had told him thus far. From his pseudo-humble beginnings to his tragic memories of the Dark Days, this man wearing a seaweed colored suit hung on his every word.

"Yes. But my 28th as a part of the production team," he replied.

"It's hard to imagine you as a young man, Severus," the other man teased.

The studio audience roared with laughter. The Gamemaker smirked.

"It's not hard to imagine, Kaiser. I've kept together fairly well," Severus replied. To his surprise there were some giggles. Even Kaiser chuckled a bit.

It was impossible to tell Kaiser Lysias's age. Severus only knew it because he had seen the man's personnel files. Still, his body modifications were expertly done. One would have to know what to look for to notice he had any work done aside from the obvious. Sea green was not a natural skin tone. Nor were the color of his eyes which was a shade of blue that reminded Severus of the ocean. No doubt he was honoring the victors of the 27th Hunger Games. The Holy Warriors of District Four. Riva Edlyn and Zale Sewell.

For the year it had been all billowy tunics, tights, and leather boots. They looked like idiots. Severus had to fire several stylists because of their insistence that he follow the latest fashions. His all black suit was a signature of his. Black suit with a blood red cloak that hung over his shoulder. It was a stark contrast to the man sitting across from him.

"So what would you say is your personal signature?" Kaiser asked.

Severus lit a cigarette; hand-rolled in District Eleven with the fumarella leaf, a high-quality tobacco derivative. It gave the cigarette a clean tastes; never smoky, and always smooth.

"I think my personal signature is a throwback to the true spirit of the Games," he began. "I remember the Uprising. It was surreal. I worked in the government. I was aware of how much we gave to the Districts. I know what the Districts' Uprising did to the citizens of the crimes against us. Unspeakable tragedies. The Hunger Games is about making amends for those crimes. But it's also become much more than that. It's another way to heal our fractured nation."

"What do you bring to the Games given your experience?"

The older man smiled. "Well, a person's work is only as good as his team, and I work with the best in the business. Julian Vorenus is responsible for all of the dramatic twists and turns. As many of you recall he was the engineer of the Avenged Muttations from the Quarter Quell."

"The Avenged was a stroke of genius. I was literally on the edge of my seat," Kaiser cooed.

"Julian is very talented and he has a good understanding of what works and what won't.

"Then of course there is another veteran, Bassilla Corvinus. She has come up with some of the greatest environmental shifts within the Arena," Severus continued.

"Ah, yes. The Earthquake in the Abandoned City of the 26th Hunger Games was amazing," Kaiser cut in again.

_If only it had killed some of the tributes inside the Arena._

Severus nodded. "Yes, then there's Vesper Sabin, who is very invested in the unique narratives of each Games. She gives the Games a more human aspect."

"Yes, she tends to focus on the some of the outer districts… the Natural Alliance some fans are calling them," Kaiser said.

Severus fell silent for a moment, taking a drag from his cigarette. "The Naturals… If that means these tributes from the outer districts that have singled themselves out as the natural rivals of the Career Districts, then yes, Vesper shines a light on those types of tributes. The unconventional types. The ones that tend to get lost under the might of some of these other tributes; the early favorites.

"I think it's important to understand that we're trying to tell a story. And each year we have to make it more exciting than the last. Without my team you wouldn't feel for these tributes. You wouldn't empathize with a tribute just trying to get home to a twin brother. You wouldn't cheer when that twin volunteers himself and wins the following year. You wouldn't be moved to tears when a tribute from District One bests not one but two other tributes only to die of her wounds. Without my team the fans would have no real connection to these games."

Kaiser nodded. "And what does your daughter bring to the table?"

Again, Severus didn't answer right away. He snuffed out his cigarette and met Kaiser's eyes. Then he forced himself to grin, like any proud parent would, and lied. "My daughter is a gifted individual. There's not too many people who are able to do what we, what Gamemakers do. Even fewer that have a natural affinity for it, like my Roma. She designed last year's Arena largely by herself. And she's played a major role in designing this year's Arena."

"And what will this Arena be? A desert? A system of caves? I think one audience member said she wished to see them fight on a series of hover platforms high in the air." Kaiser said.

Severus smiled. "Now, Kaiser that would spoil the surprise. I predict that everyone will find this year's arena to be absolutely chilling."

"What does that mean?"

"You'll just have to watch and see."

Kaiser laughed. "Well, there you have it. We're in store for a _**chilling**_ Hunger Games this year. Severus Cato, Head Gamemaker of the 28th Annual Hunger Games, everyone. Thank you for stopping by Severus."

"It was my pleasure, Kaiser."

* * *

"Splendid."

"Brilliant, sir."

"Awe-inspiring."

"I was moved."

They had been going on like this ever since he walked into his office. Their sycophantic flattery was trying his nerves.

"Get out," he said, flatly. They scattered like sewer bugs that had been exposed to light. And at last he could breath.

Severus poured himself a drink and barked at the receptionist that he was not to be disturbed for any reason, before he allowed himself to sit and relax. And just when it had seemed that his mind had stopped racing, the door to his office swung open.

"I thought I told you I was not to be disturbed!"

"Not even for your favorite daughter, father?" asked the young woman that had barged in unannounced. She always did like to make an entrance.

"You are my only daughter, Roma," Severus replied.

"All the more reason for me to be your favorite, don't you agree?" she said, flippantly.

"What do you want?" he asked, resuming his drinking.

"To ask about the interview you gave today," Roma replied.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "And what of it?"

"I have only been here for two years but even I am aware what you told them was 99% falsity," she told him.

His daughter was a smart girl. She had taken after her mother in looks but thankfully she had inherited his eye for subtly.

"Sit, Roma." He pointed to the velvet chair in front of his desk. He got up and poured her drink, handing it to her before he went back to his seat. "You think I was being dishonest."

It wasn't a question but Roma answered it anyway. "I know you were being dishonest, Father. You despise Julian. You think Bassilla is terrible at her job. And Vesper has been a thorn in your side for years."

He chuckled. "I'm weaving together a story. That is what our job is as Gamemakers. We are not just selling a story. We are fabricating one. And we are enforcing an underlying narrative."

"And which narrative is that?" she asked.

He took a sip from his glass. "That the Hunger Games is a tool to bring us closer together."

Roma shot him a confused look. "Isn't it?"

Severus laughed, again. "No, my dear child. And if you think that you are as naive as some of these fans. The Hunger Games is a tool, yes. But not used in the way you think. The games breed competition. Districts compete. One victor is crowned. The other eleven districts get someone to hate for the year. Until we repeat the process over again the following year.

"You see, while the districts are arguing about which district got the Victor Crown stolen from them by another district, we are free to live in peace without fear of another uprising. Because as the districts fight amongst themselves, they are not fighting us."


	2. Pre-Reaping - District 2

**Verity Leonis: **Age 16, District Two  
"_In the Arena there is only victory or death."_

_She was five when they came for her. As an orphan, she knew this day would come. The men in white always took you after your fifth birthday. If you were special; strong. It was an honor to be chosen; to be found worthy. It was something every orphan wanted. But only a few were ever taken. _

_The day she came to the Academy was the day she first heard the words, though it would be years before she understood them._

Glory is what we reap from this way of life.

_They were people of the quarry, hard as stone. They strike as forceful as a hammer, and they were as exacting as a chisel._

Glory is what we reap from this way of life.

_The Academy was hard._

_Although she had known hunger before, it was nothing compared to what she had experienced within the wall of the Academy. Only an instructor could say when she ate. And sometimes, especially in the very beginning, she went without. Nothing would be given to her. She had to earn everything she ever got. And then she had to fight to keep it. _

Glory is what we reap from this way of life.

_It got better over the years. The harder she worked, the harder she pushed herself, the more rewarding her life became._

_She still didn't know what it was like to have a full stomach. If she wanted more food she could have taken it from the younger children or the weaker ones. But she had been them once. She knew what it was like to have what's yours taken from you. Besides, young, weak, old, or strong, they were still citizens of District Two. They were the people of the quarry. They were her people and one didn't take from their people. Those that perceived that kindness for weakness were proved wrong._

_She had the jet black hair that was common in District Two. But her skin wasn't as pale; more olive, actually. And then there was her eyes; a crystal, almost icy blue. She also wasn't muscular in the same way the others were either. _

"_Verity, you won't defeat your enemy if you take them head-on," many of her instructors would say. They were right of course. But this young girl was determined to prove herself worthy. So she had to find a different way to fight._

_Verity wasn't strong, so she'd have to be quick. She wasn't sturdy, so she'd have to be agile. If she was fast enough she could put down an opponent before they had a chance to hit her. Throwing knives seemed a logical weapon of choice as that kept her out of harm's way almost entirely. But that wouldn't help her in the Academy where no weapons were permitted. So she needed something that would regrettably put her in danger. But there was no reward in this life without some sort of risk._

Glory is what we reap from this way of life.

_She threw herself into her training. Studying the lesser known martial arts until she came across something that she could use. Something that was perfect for her. She just needed to test it out. But on who?_

_The natural choice would be the strongest among them. Not just in her age group but the strongest of them all. Had this been the year before she would have chosen Brass Powers as the test subject. However he had died in the Arena, cut down by the Butcher of District Twelve and her lover, the Devil with the Angelic Face from District Nine. _

_So who?_

"_Move," said a large boy in the lunch line one day, singling himself out. Verity knew the boy's face. A year older than her and a favored candidate for tribute when his time came for the 28th Hunger Games. Trajan Vala, a gigantic brute, a bully; someone that believed that cruelty was strength._

_When he got to her, Verity stood her ground._

"_Move," Trajan grunted. _

"_No," Verity replied._

"_You know who I am?" Trajan asked._

_Verity nodded. "I do."_

"_Then you know what I can do to you." That wasn't a question. He spoke as if it was a fact; a certainty that he'd hurt her. _

_Pride came before the fall. And Trajan thought he was already a victor._

"_I know what you're going to try and do to me," she countered._

_The mess hall had grown silent. A challenge was issued. Trajan's strength was cast into doubt. Was he really the strongest? Was he really the most worthy of them all? Verity could see the questions etched on the spectators' faces. _

Trajan, you a merely a sacrifice, _she thought. _Victory or Death. There are no prizes for second place.

_Verity watched his expression contort into a frown and she knew he was going to strike out at her. So she had to be quick. She ducked under his reach and tapped his shoulder twice in rapid session._

_Trajan's arm went limp._

_He tried to swing again with his less dominant arm and again Verity tapped his shoulder with her fingers._

_Again his arm went limp._

_She stepped to the side and he tried to barrel forward. As he passed her, she hit him hard in his back, where one of his kidneys were. And Trajan went down._

_Verity was the victor of this bout._

Glory is what we reap from this way of life.

"_VERITY LEONIS!"_

_Her eyes flashed with terror as she heard one of the instructors call out her name. The whole mess hall frozen, eventually they turned slowly to look at her._

_Verity didn't pay them a second thought. The instructors would deal out her punishment. They were the ones that had her future in her hands. They were the only ones that mattered in this moment._

_The instructor's expression gave no hint as to what would happen to her next. She could be sent to the pit. Which was a death sentence. As the old saying went, _'There were no old bones in the pit.'

"_Come with me," the instructor beckoned. And Verity nodded, not looking at Trajan as she walked out of the mess hall. _

_She did as she was told, reassuring herself that it was worth it. Verity had taken down the best of them. And so whatever punishment she was about to receive, whatever pain she'd have to go through, it was worth it. _

Glory is what we reap from this way of life.

_The instructor stopped just outside a large chrome door. He gave her a very stern expression. _

"_Inside," he ordered. _

_Verity nodded and walked inside. _

_The room was one in the Academy that she had never been in. In fact it was in a part of the building that she had never been to. It was sleeker part. Everything gleamed like polished silver. In stark contrast to the brick and mortar that the rest of the Academy was made of. _

_Fear closed up her throat, made her palms sweaty. She wanted to run and hide. But there was nowhere to go. Verity remembered what she had done and why. _

Glory is what we reap from this way of life.

_The was large but sparsely decorated. A few simple chairs lined the back wall. Above the chairs was a mirror that spanned the width of the wall. In front of the chairs there was a small metal table; sleek and shiny just like the door. On the table was a glass pitcher of water and four glasses. _

_Three chairs, four glasses. There was something going on here. Verity looked around for any cameras, concluding that just because she didn't see any, didn't mean they weren't there. She touched nothing. Standing before the chairs, as if she had lined up with her class for morning inspection; and waited._

_And waited._

_And waited._

_Seconds ticked away to minutes, minutes became hours. And no one had come to see her. She wanted something to drink but she dared not move. _

_Because she had not earned it._

_She earned this audience, or whatever this was. But she had not earned a glass of water. So Verity waited._

_And waited. _

_And waited. _

_Her knees hurt. Her ankles swelled. Her throat was dry. Her lips were cracking. She was just so thirsty. She'd stand here all night if she could just have a glass of water. _

_And still no one came. _

_Her eyelids were getting heavy. The pain in her joints was unbearable. Now the need to rest overrode the need to quench her thirst. Verity's limbs felt like dead weights straining her joints. But she still didn't move. _

_The door swung open just as the sun rose and she kept her eyes trained forward. Each potential only spoke when they spoken to. _

"_Potential," a voice she couldn't place sounded behind her. "Have we kept you waiting too long?" _

_Verity shook her head. "This potential has waited as long as she needed to." _

"_And if you had to wait even longer?..." the voice asked._

"_Then this potential will have to wait even longer," she replied, her gaze still fixed forward._

_A man came to sit before her, taking the middle chair. He was older than she was. Old enough to be her father, if she had one. His dark hair was cropped short in a Caesar Cut. It was a military cut, one that insured his hair couldn't be pulled at or or used to gain leverage against him. He had been a large man in his young; strong, muscular. He still had that aura about him but he wasn't bulky anymore. His pale skin had tanned slightly and he looked like hadn't shaved in a few days. Unusual for a man of his age and status._

"_Would the First Victor like a glass of water?" Verity asked._

_The man smiled. "Yes, thank you. But only for me."_

_Verity nodded. "Of course, First Victor."_

_The door opened again. The way the boots clicked on the marble floor she knew was someone who moved with purpose, someone who was on a mission. _

"_Silver, give the poor girl a drink of water. She stood here all night. She passed your little test."_

_Silver, the First Victor flashed Verity a sly smile, his dark eyes getting a little shiny. She had passed his test. But what test was that? And how had she passed?_

"_Livia," he said. "you've ruined the element of surprise."_

_Livia sat down beside him, taking the chair on his left. She was a tall woman, curvy in a way that most females of District Two weren't. The way Verity was. She was a striking beauty, with black wavy hair and silver colored eyes. She studied Verity, a pensive expression washing over her features._

"_Go on, little one," Livia told her. "Drink."_

_Verity nodded, pouring Silver, Livia, and herself a glass of water. Just as she finished the door opened again._

"_You're late, Reginald," Silver said, tersely. _

"_Aw, Silver don't be cross with me," Reginald replied, sitting on Silver's right. "A victor is never late and arrives precisely when they mean to. You taught me that, old man."_

_Reginald didn't carry himself like the others. Livia and Silver were warrior or generals. Reginald carried himself like a king. There was a regal air to him. He was almost Silver's carbon copy, only a decade younger, perhaps not as tall, though he was stockier. He had the same Caesar Cut and unlike Silver he was clean-shaven. His dark eyes didn't hold the same kind of weight as Livia's or Silver's did. It was almost as if he was enjoying himself._

_Silver rolled his eyes and nodded to Verity. "Pour him a glass as well, youngling."_

_She did as she was told and handed each of the three people standing before a glass of water. When she returned, Verity drank her glass down, savoring every delicious drop._

"_This Potential is grateful," Verity told them._

"_Do you know who were are?" Reginald asked._

_She nodded. "You are the Victors of District Two. You are Reginald Craver, Victor of the 10th Hunger Games. Four kills. You defeated Queen Zales in single combat to win. She is Livia Stone, Victor of the 6th Games, and the originator of the Career Alliance. Five kills. She defeated the last three alliance mates to be crowned. And this Silver Rorke, son of our mayor, Onyx Rorke, the former general in the Capitol Army. He is the First Victor. Seven kills. The highest kill count on record…"_

"_Until recently," Reginald cut in, snickering at the sound that Silver made. "Chin up, Old Man. You couldn't have been beaten by a better person."_

"_The Butcher of District Twelve… She wouldn't have been able to best me," Silver said._

_Livia raised an eyebrow. "She outdid us all in the Mentor Qualifiers. I think you underestimate her."_

"_She would have died without her lover, that child from District Nine. The other Colton twin," Silver replied._

_Reginald grinned. "Maybe so. Doesn't change the face that we've nearly won 18 years running."_

"_Save for the Quarter Quell," Silver added, giving Livia a pointed look._

_Livia didn't flinch under the weight of his gaze. "Careful, Silver. I am not your tribute anymore. We are equals."_

_Reginald glanced at Verity and rolled his eyes. "Forgive them. Sometimes mommy and daddy have to talk things out."_

_Through she wanted to smile, she didn't. Verity knew better. Unless she was spoken to, she'd remained quiet. _

"_Potential," Silver called to her and she snapped to attention. "Do you know why you're here?"_

"_No, First Victor, this Potential does not," she replied._

_Silver smiled and for some reason where she found Reginald's grin was comforting, she found the First Victor's smile to be unnerving. Reginald was charming. Silver was exacting. Both of them were deadly. Reginald just was better at masking it. _

"_Do you know why District Two always has volunteers?" Livia asked._

_Verity shook her head. "No, Victor Stone."_

"_We have volunteers because two are chosen before the reaping," Silver said._

"_They are given special training, special coaching," Reginald added._

"_We have chosen you," Livia told her._

"_Me?" Verity replied in shock. "This Potential is not worthy of such an honor."_

_Reginald chuckled. "We'll have to work on her image."_

"_That's why we have you, Reggie," Silver snapped._

"_We'll have her see the stylists with the others," Livia said._

"_Others?" Verity asked._

_Again Silver gave her that menacing smile. "You didn't think you were our only pick, did you? No, little dove. You are one of three. Three of the best females of reaping age are chosen and for the next year they are trained by us. We announce the best of the three the night before the Reaping. And they volunteer for the Games."_

"_We do the same with the boys," Reginald added. "I was about your age when Livia and Silver came to me. I proved myself worthy. We need another victor. We need someone better than all of the others. The best of the best."_

_Livia offered her a sympathetic look. "It will not be easy. You will be pushed harder than you have ever been pushed. It is to flush out any remaining weakness, to make you unyielding as stone. It's to make you a victor."_

_Silver nodded. "What are our words, little dove?"_

_Verity's reply came swiftly. "Glory is what we reap from this way of life."_

"_No one will give you a crown, little dove," Silver told her._

_Verity nodded. "In the Arena there is only victory or death. There are no prizes for second place."_

* * *

The Reaping was tomorrow. Tomorrow she volunteer with Trajan. A mercy, she supposed. Anyone else she had trained with and Verity might have felt bad for being fated to killed them. But not Trajan. He was still as arrogant as ever. Of course she knew she needed to kill him quick and before he killed her. Quietly in his sleep wouldn't work. Victor Stone, she suggested poisoning his food or water supply. It wasn't a bad idea. Verity just needed to find a way to pull it off. Trajan may be an arrogant brute, but he wasn't stupid.

It was a problem for another day she supposed, pushing the thought out of her mind as she made her wake home. Verity, unlike the others had no interest in having one last hurrah. A good night's sleep is what she needed. Perhaps even a good hot meal before bed. She hadn't had one of those in some time. Though, she knew that she'd get treated like a queen in the Capitol. So just sleep then.

She rounded the corner to her dormitory and…

Nothing…

That's as far back as she could remember. Verity couldn't think past the that moment. Everything after was a pit of darkness.

She awoke scared, alone, and tied up to the center column of a building she didn't recognize. Verity told herself to breathe. She'd just have to get a grip on the situation. If she could just-

"You're thinking of ways to escape," a voice sounded behind and made her jump out of her skin, practically. "You're thinking of ways to beat the odds."

Her attacker came into view. He wasn't a large boy. Muscular, of course. As most potentials were. His dark hair was cut short, styled as the victors did. His eyes were so blue they looked white. She knew this boy.

"Tiberius?" Verity choked. "Why?"

"Because I need to be the best," he confessed.

"But this won't… there's still…"

Tiberius stepped aside just enough so Verity could get a good glimpse of Trajan's dead form. He had been mutilated. His belly ripped to shreds. She could see pieces of his viscera hanging out of the wound on his torso. His eyes were gone but the face still held an expression of sheer terror. He was alive when Tiberius took his eyes and laid his heart on top of his ribcage.

"You were saying?" Tiberius asked.

"Why?"

He took a step toward her. "Because he was weak. He would have brought shame not pride to our district. But killing him would only pair me with you. And you Verity, you are the best of us. You are a skilled fighter, you are cunning. But you are too precious for the Games. It would only destroy you."

"So I won't volunteer tomorrow. Just let me go."

Tiberius looked at her and smiled. "Lair… It's fine. I'm not angry with you. I admire you. But as I've said you're too good for these Games, too pure for the Arena."

He walked around Trajan's corpse, kneeling next to him. Verity watched him as he took his heart into his hands. Her eyes widened. She prayed that he wouldn't come near her with it. She didn't want to be this close a dead body. Ironic, she supposed. She supposed to be the one that killed Trajan but staring at his eyeless and heartless corpse, she felt hollow.

"Please just let me go, Tiberius. I'll help you in the Arena," she said.

He stood, holding Trajan's heart in his hands and walked over to her. With his free hand she reached up to touch her face, and Verity flinched. Tiberius laughed.

"You will help me in the Arena," he told her.

"Of course," she replied. "Just let me go."

He smiled, softly. "I can't do that, Verity. I'm going to kill you. Then I'm going to take your heart and your eyes. The eyes, I'll keep. The heart…" Verity choked down a sob. "...I'll eat. You will give me strength. So you see you will help me in the Arena. Your strength will add to mine. You will lead me to victory."

She watched as he took a bit from Trajan's heart and she shrieked though she knew no one would be coming for her. This was the end.

"Let me go," Verity told him. "I won't fight you."

"You won't?"

She shook her head. "No, I won't."

Tiberius nodded, and went to cut her loose. Just as soon as she felt the ropes give way, Verity lashed out at Tiberius. Because his hands were full, she was able to get two clean hits. One to the nose and one to the chest. Tiberius staggered back and again Verity went in for the attack, kicking him in the stomach. He dropped the heart and took a hold of her ankle. She tried to break free but he stabbed her in the calf.

She yelped in pain and fell the floor, trying to snap back up to her feet but he stopped her with his foot on her neck. He leaned forward, applying pressure until she squirmed under him.

"This could have been painless, Verity," Tiberius said. "I suppose it still could be."

The last thing Verity saw was Tiberius lifting his foot from her neck and bringing down with force.

_Glory is what we reap from this way of life._

But Verity would never know any glory. If they found her body they wouldn't even give her a gravestone. Only victors, tributes, and peacekeeper received tombstone. And Verity Leonis would die as a nothing.


	3. Pre-Reaping - District 3

**Benjamin Ohms: **Age 20, District Three  
_"I'm serious. Is it possible?"_

_T__here was something especially terrifying but also equally liberating about a person's final reaping. For six years one lived under the fear of death. And for six years one saw child after child; sometimes a friend, a sibling, sometimes it's the person that in that childlike sort of way thought they'd spend the rest of their lives together. After so long one got sort of numb. Even accepting the idea that one day, maybe it would be their name pulled out of the hat. So on the day of a person's 7th reaping, the sky was actually blue (ignoring the brown tinge to it), the air was crisper, and even in District Three, one could almost smell Lavender all around them._

_Benjamin Ohms was no different._

_He was the youngest of four and since he was old enough to collect tessesre he didn't, as his siblings hadn't, or their parents before them, or any of the other citizens in District Three. One did not enter one's name more than one needed to. If a family was going hungry, there were others in the district that would helped out. But no one contributed to the Hunger Games. It was something that one usually came to accept. The line between life and death was thin in the districts and by the time a person turned of age, they knew and cared for at least one person chosen for the Hunger Games only to return in a pine box._

_Benjamin had lost a few friends but thankfully none of his siblings had been called to compete. Had they… well, Bennie might not have been here today. Still, depending upon how today went he might not even see nineteen; it was something else he had come to accept. There was no way he'd ever become a victor. Each tribute had about a four percent chance of making it home, factoring in the fact that district three only had one victor to date, the odds were slimmer. Benjamin had always been more comfortable with numbers than he was with any sort of physical activity. No one ever died doing a bit of math._

"_Head always in the clouds…" a friendly voice sounded as he was pulled into a headlock. Roger Matheson was only a year younger than Ben but they had been good friends for years. And only Roger could get the jump on him._

"_Bennie, I think you're getting slow in your old age," the pretty boy flashed a smile, released Ben, and the boys laughed despite the morbidity of the joke._

_Ben shook his head. "Or you're getting better at sneaking up behind me."_

_Roger bowed. "Mine is the way of the shadow, my friend." He paused. "So last Reaping. How does it feel? After today, you'll be a free man."_

_Benjamin smiled, though the light didn't quite reach his eyes. He just didn't feel overjoyed. Today could still take a turn. He could still be walking into most certain death. "Good. But in a year you'll be right there with me."_

_Roger's grin brightened. "Yea. Then we'll start our glorious adventure. Two old geezers on the road to becoming great inventors."_

_The older boy nodded. "You'll be the first one to lost our hair."_

"_Please, my hair is my best feature, Bennie," Roger scoffed, patting him on the back. "You're gonna be the old man. I'll have to charm all our future wives into sticking it out with us."_

_Benjamin chuckled. "Yea, keep telling yourself that man."_

"_You still haven't answered my question."_

"_Which question?"_

"_About how you're feelin', man. It's your last Reaping. We're gonna celebrate when this is all over."_

_Ben frowned. "I'm okay… I feel good. How do you feel?"_

"_Nervous. As always. You think they'll spare me 'cause I'm pretty?" Roger jested._

"_Stranger things have happened." Ben replied._

_His best friend nodded. "Hey, well if I do get reaped, I'll get to meet Jasmine… That vixen from District Twelve. Then all I'd have to do is win and we'll be married before next spring."_

_This made Benjamin burst into laughter. Roger was ladies' man but sometimes it was a bit much. "Really? Jasmine Cloverfield? I'm more partial-"_

"_To Aurora Noland," Roger finished his sentence. "You like those smart girls, I know."_

"_And you apparently like deadly warrior women…"_

_Roger grinned. "Have you ever been with a warrior woman?"_

_Ben shot him a look. "Have you?"_

"_No, but I would love to."_

_The boys laughed together once more._

"_Come on, Roge our destiny awaits."_

* * *

_Benjamin and Roger were being fretting over by Mrs. Ohms, Benjamin's overprotective. She told the boys to stand up straight and fix their clothes. The boys looked to Roger's parents for help but both seemed to be assumed._

_The District Representative took the stage wearing a pilot's uniform that was various shades of shimmery blues, silvers, and purples. She looked absolutely ridiculous._

"_Mom, we have to go," Ben finally said, having enough of this. Their District Representative had taken the stage and the Reaping was about to start._

"_Yea, wouldn't want to miss that same propo," Roger chimed._

_The boys continued in unison. "War, terrible war."_

_Mrs. Ohms hit them both. "Don't you joke about that. A lot of people died in the Dark Days. You're grandfather included, Benjamin."_

_Both boys had enough sense to look sheepish, knowing that they had been insensitive._

"_Sorry, mom."_

_Mrs. Ohms kissed her boy on the cheek as Roger hugged his parents. "It's okay. Now, run along."_

_Roger and Benjamin took their spots and waited._

"_Welcome," the representative said, all smiles. Benjamin could hear Roger laugh. He thought her voice was funny. "Happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor!"_

_Silence._

_The District Representative grinned as she walked over to one of the globes. "First our female tribute!"_

_With a dramatic flourish a name was chosen._

_"BAILEY FRANKLIN!"_

_Benjamin heard someone gasp. Tears came later, followed by muffled pleas to spare his baby. His only daughter. But everyone knew that unless someone volunteered, Bailey wouldn't be saved. No one would volunteered. Volunteering meant being a part of the spectacle and they would never do that. _

_The District Representative smiled, happily moving to the next globe. "Time to meet our male tribute!"_

_Benjamin's heart jumped into his throat. His whole life flashed before his eyes._

_"ROGER MATHESON!"_

_With those two words, Ben's whole world shattered. He was moving through the sea of children, some his classmates, some of them complete strangers... no one them made a move or said a word._

"_Roger!" Ben called._

"_Bennie! It's okay!" Roger called back as he was lead to the stage. "It's gonna be okay, buddy."_

_But they knew it wasn't. Nothing was going to be okay after this._

_There was pointless chatter after that. Something about a tour and a feast. Ben heard none of it. Just the silence hush of his dreams for the future fading away. And once it was over, he rushed to the Justice Building to say his goodbyes._

* * *

_Ben couldn't bring himself to smile._

_Roger frowned. "Buck up, man. I'm not dead yet. And this isn't goodbye yet. We'll see each other at the Capitol. I'll introduce you to Rory if you help me out with Jasmine. Then all I have to do is win this thing. And like I said, Jasmine is as good as mine. Watch and see. You'll of course be my best man. I'll even name our firstborn after you."_

_Ben nodded, solemnly; trying to put on a brave face. "It'll be great man."_

* * *

_**30… 29… 28…**_

_The Camera briefly flashed on Roger's face. His dark brown hair was being pushed into his face by the wind. His amber eyes scanned what he could see of the Arena. Roger looked more husky then he had before he left for the Capitol; his cheeks were fuller. They had feed him well in the Capitol. But there was nothing that was going to keep him from looking like that wispy kid from District Three._

_**20… 19… 18…**_

_The tributes from Districts One and Two were especially fierce this year. Brass Powers was a towering menacing figure. But equally terrifying where the other alliance people had dubbed the Wolf Pack. Roger was surrounded by lions and wolves. If he was smart, he wouldn't stick around long in at the Bloodbath._

_**10… 9… 8…**_

"_Just get to the south, Roge," Benjamin whispered in the square. He was the only one watching. Or so it seemed. Of course there were others, watching but trying not to look like they were watching. _

_The Hunger Games was loathed in District Three. They didn't participate any further than they had to. The town square was usually a ghost town unless it was for mandatory viewings. And even then the no one was really enthralled by the games. _

_**7… 6… 5…**_

_The Camera cut back to Roger. His stats flashed on the corner of the screen. _

Name: Roger Matheson  
Age: 17  
District Three  
Training Score: 6

_**4… 3… 2…**_

_There was a sweeping shot of the Arena._

_In the center was the Golden Cornucopia. Rolling green hills separated Benjamin's best friend from the loot of the Horn, dipping down, creating a circular valley that stretched out in all directions. Old-growth trees bespeckled the area. To the north the trees became dense and coalesced to make a dark, shadowy spot. Directly in front of him to the east the trees grew more plentiful. Something grey rose above the tops of the trees but it was hard to make out. Salvation was to the south. Where far away from any Careers or the Wolf Pack which comprised of Districts Nine and Twelve. But there in the distance was a tall spire. If Roger could get there he would be safe._

_**1… GONG!...**_

"_Come on, Roge. Grab a pack and go," Ben prayed, quietly._

_24 tributes flew toward the center. And of course the Careers got there first. There were three there, two tributes from District One, another the female tribute from District Two, guarding the loot._

_Roger darted across the screen just as Brass, the male tribute from District Two picked up the largest sword, Benjamin had ever seen. Thankfully Roger kept running. It was better to stay out of that boy's way. But instead of heading south, Roger linked up with his district partner and four others. He had made an alliance. That wasn't District Three's way. Careers made alliances. People that played the Capitol's game made alliances. Tributes from District Three did not make alliances. They were blood pacts and they only ended in the death._

_The Camera cut again showing a scarred young tribute from District Twelve. She had dark hair, and ash colored eyes. She had a hard look to her, baptised in fire. She hadn't ran but sort of sauntered over to one of the outlining packs, picking through it and pulled out a knife. Her stats, like Roger's, flashed on the screen._

Name: Ember Clay  
Age: 18  
District Twelve [Volunteer]  
Training Score: 10

_Ember put the knife in her right hand_

"Uh-oh…" _Kaiser Lysias's voice chimed in through the loudspeakers. _"It appears we have a clever rouse in development."

"Yes," _said another voice, Benjamin couldn't place. _"According to our cheat sheets here, Ember Clay is left-handed. Yet she is going to fight with the blade in her right hand."

"Now, why would she knowingly handicap herself?" _Kaiser asked._

"I don't know, but I think we're about to find out, Kaiser."

"Cheer up, Grumpy," _Ember said when she saw her district mate come jogging toward her. _"When Charming and Sweetpea come over, we'll start hunting people. Me and Charming set 'em up. You and Sweetpea knock 'em down."

"_Grumpy's" stats flashed on the screen._

Name: Jasper Throne  
Age: 18  
District Twelve  
Training Score: 8

_Jasper nodded, drawing an arrow. There were so many damned archers in the field. Roger had even picked up a bow. At least that would keep him far away from the these monsters. _

_Ben just couldn't understand how carefree this Ember was about killing people. People. Kids. These were someone's children and she was speaking as if this was just another normal day. Like she did this all the time. And her district partner had agreed. Which made Benjamin think they really did this in District Twelve. It wouldn't surprise him. The tributes from the outermost district were always a bit on the wild side; savage. Maybe they did hunt people for sport in the off-season._

_Another tribute came into view. A pretty (not handsome) young man came into view, a dazzling smile plastered on his face. And again his stats flashed on the corner of the large screen._

Name: Janus "Jan" Colton  
Age: 16  
District Nine [Volunteer]  
Training Score: 9

"Oh, I see the Wolf Pack is beginning to assemble," _Kaiser observed._

_His district mate came into view aimed just like Jasper with a bow._

Name: Isolde Lyre  
Age: 16  
District Nine  
Training Score: 7

_Isolde was a beautiful girl. She had this sort of innocence to her. Her chestnut brown hair had been pulled back and styled into a single braid. Her like brown eyes shined with a sense of underlying fear. She didn't belong here._

_None of them did._

_Save for maybe this Ember and Jan._

"So what's the plan?" _Ember asked, her hands finding a backpack. "_We should concentrate on districts 3, 6, 8, and any stranglers."

"Six. Going for Six. I'll get their attention and play bait. You all know what to do," _Jan replied._

_Ember nodded, _"Time to go hunting."

_The camera cut again just as Brass's sword came down on the tributes from District Seven. The girl had lost her arm. But the boy had lost his eyesight. _

_Brass's voice cut through the clamor of the bloodbath._ "You chose poorly."

"RAYNE!" _The boy cried out in pain, his hands going to his eyes. His district partner came to his side._

"We're heading out. Felix, I've got your arm. Its going to be alright," _Rayne told him._

_Her arm was gushing blood and she didn't look too well herself. _

_Just as Brass came toward them once more, three tributes encircled the pair from District 7. They made a wall blocking Brass from his desired prey. The tribute from District 2 laughed._

"You think this will stop me?" _Brass asked._

_It was the only boy for the trio that replied as he opened his hand and showed him some sort of explosive device._

"No," _the boy said. _"But this might."

"Boomer?" _the smallest girl said._

"RUN! NOW!" _Boomer barked._

_He dropped the device near Brass. And the large career jumped back, looking for cover as two projectiles, an arrow and an throwing knife came for him. Then the tributes with district seven ran toward the shadowy patch of trees and the device went off dispersing a dark purple smoke that covered their retreat._

"_Clever spark-plug, real clever," Benjamin remarked, his eyes fixed on the screen._

_The Camera cut back to the Wolf Pack. Jan had found a mark. A young male from District Six. Some boy named Ford. Jan snagged a bag nearly right out of his hand. Just as the other boy was about to make a grab? Jan snatched it, and then grinned._

_The tribute from District Nine looked nearly feral, that 'flirtiness' bleeding out of his eyes and the cold ruthlessness bleeding into them. He was magnetic and even grinning like this, it was hard to resist._

_All eyes were on him._

"Come get it, if you're feeling hard enough."

_Ford took the bait and charged forward and was greeted by two arrows. One in the right shoulder, the other in his stomach. Ford frozen and that's when Ember came into view. She grabbed him from behind knife in her right hand, her left holding his face. His eyes widened in surprise just as her knife cut across his exposed neck. He didn't even have time for a death rattle as she plunged her knife into his chest, twisting it for effect. Ford just went limp in her arms._

_And the first cannon blast sounded._

"Ford Manning," _Kaiser's voice was somber. _"The first to fall at the hands of the Wolf Pack."

"I have to say," _said the other voice. _"They took Ford out with the precision of a career alliance."

"Yes, indeed," _Kaiser agreed. _"Ford Manning, coming in 24th place for the 26th Hunger Games."

_Ember let Ford's body drop, unceremoniously. She looked at her alliance wiping the blood from her knife with the sleeve of her jacket. There was a close up of her face. And it was just blank, hollow. Like she felt nothing._

_As she opened her mouth to say something an arrow whizzed passed Ember, missing her and Jan. Each looked back and Ben's heart dropped when he saw where the arrow had come from._

_Roger was standing there, most of his alliance at his back. There was a raven-haired girl with a staff, standing close to him._

"Stick to the plan!" _she shouted at her alliance, pointing towards the treeline at the south. _"Get them moving!"

_Jan and Ember shared a look, smirking at each other. _

"Seems to me they want to go running with wolves," _Ember said._

_Jan nodded. _"Probably shoulda warned what happens when they do that."

_Ember turned to Isolde and Jasper, _"Sweetpea and Grumpy, get a fix on their buddies. We'll get these two. You make sure the others don't jump in."

"_Roger get out," Benjamin pleaded. "Get out now, or you're fragged."_

_But Roger didn't run. And he abandoned his bow for a knife, with a look for total fear on his face. He was terrified, shaking down to his boots. He wasn't a fighter. Or a killer. What was he thinking? Benjamin didn't know._

_The girl with the staff warily jabbed her staff at the approaching district nine tribute. She set her jaw as she adjusted her grip on the staff, swinging at Jan's head. _

"My Pa cuffed me harder when I was picking on my kid brother. Nice try," J_an quipped. He didn't take his eyes off of the girl with the staff but it was clear he was talking to Ember. _"Take care of the the wannabe archer, Sunshine."

_Ember nodded and rushed forward. The tribute with the staff lashed out, trying to hit Ember, but she ducked and that's when Jan got her. He feigned left and waited for her to follow through before he threw his weight into his attack. Benjamin hadn't even seen the knife until he slashed at the girl's face, a red line bloomed on one side of her face for the corner of her month to almost the hand went to the wound and something had stuck to it. Jan just hadn't cut the girl's face, his cleaved at her mouth._

_Roger, despite his fear attacked Ember before she had a chance to get him. Even as his alliance mate took that grievous wound from Jan, he didn't falter and sliced Ember across her left arm. She shot him a perturbed look and waited for him to overextend himself. She opened the vein in his neck, turned on her heel and stabbed Roger in the back. Ember was about to finish him off when his alliance mate knocked hers to the ground._

"Charming!" _Ember called rushing over them. The girl with the staff started to run off, but not before she took an arrow to the shoulder from Jan's district partner. _

"Leave her and help me with him!" _Ember ordered her archers. She looked down at Jan, stroking his hair. _"Come back to me Charming. You've had a enough beauty sleep."

"Is he okay?" _Isolde asked. _

_Ember shrugged and looked at Jasper. _"If that bitch from eight even blinks this way, you put an arrow in her eye."

_Jasper nodded and drew his bowstring to his cheek. He followed the girl from district eight until she disappeared into the trees._

_Jan's eyes fluttered opened just at the sound of a cannon. Apparently a career tribute had strangled Ford's district partner. Kaiser spoke a few words. Benjamin found out the fallen tribute's name was Klover. _

_But everyone had forgotten about Roger. Roger who was still fighting to take one more labored breath. He wasn't moving anymore but it mouth was moving wordlessly as he stared up and the artificial sky._

"Hey, Sunshine," _Jan said, lazily. He sat up and looked around. _"What's going on? What did I miss? I know I gave Lacey a nice new _smile_..."

_Ember grinned. _"You sure did, Charming."

_Isolde added, _"Glory took out Klover from Six. Everyone else quit the field."

_Jan nodded, trying not to let on how much his head hurt. _"Where's Brass?"

_Ember frowned. _"He ran after Broody and the others with Captain Sucks-at-Life."

_Just as she said it, Brass and another career tribute emerged from the treeline. Brass was leaning on the smaller tribute, holding his face. The Wolf Pack stood, studying the scene unfolding before them._

"Looks like someone took the Champ's eyesight," _Ember said._

_Jan shrugged. _"That makes it easier for us."

_Brass was led to the horn. The other careers rushed over to help him and a giant of a boy was searched for half-dead tributes. He passed by the Wolf Pack._

"Keep moving, Tiny," _Ember barked when his eyes shot over to Roger's fallen body. They had a bit of a stare down until Brass's voice boomed over the silence._

"Are there any stragglers?"

_The giant met Ember's gaze and she stood her ground. For a moment, Ben thought, the other boy was going to hand over his dying friend to a monster. And then they all turned toward the whimperings of a tribute still cowering behind his platform. The oversized tribute marched over to the helpless young boy, barely even 14. He dragged him toward the Horn, his screams shatter any illusion of peace._

"Please!" _he shouted. _"I don't want to die. I have a brother and a sister that need me! Please!"

_The Camera cut to Jan taking a step forward. Ember stopped him with a look and a simple shake of her head. _

_Brass laughed at the young boys cries._

"The little fisherman from Four," _he said, nodding for the others to hold him down. His district partner held the boy's arms out. And the other two careers from District One held his legs. It would have made Brass' next move more difficult if the the boy Ember had called Tiny hadn't given him a few pointers. He even bound the boy's arms behind his back just as he suggested._

"_Good job, Bogart. Go check the packs around the field," Brass smiled, bloody from the damage to his eyes. This lion still had teeth and could still bite. He hefted his big langswert up, smoothly bringing it up, around his head, and back down through the young boy's neck. Brass assumed it was his neck given the way the boy was breathing._

_The head rolled forward, hung for a moment on a tiny scrap of skin as blood fountained up and coated the corpse before dropping with a thump to the ground. His body flopped to the side, jerking in death spasms. And then cannon sounded. It was deafening._

_Brass grounded the tip of his sword and bent, slightly painfully though he hid that fact, and felt for a moment before finding and picking up the severed head. He tied it on his belt and stood. Brass twisted his head, listening rather than looking, to the roll of thunder, then pointed. _"Tribute. There. Go fetch, but don't kill for the moment, Bogart."

_He had pointed toward the Wolf Pack. Jan and Ember exchanged looks and she nodded._

_She turned on her heels and went over to Roger. _

_Benjamin couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen as they closed in on Roger's face. The blood of his neck had darkened. And the pool of blood he was laying in was practically black. Ember took his head in her hands and she sighed._

"So much for quick and painless, eh Handsome?" _Ember asked._

_Bogart came forward but Jan stepped directly into his path._

"Move," _Bogart ordered. _

_Jan stood his ground. The look in his eyes wasn't bright and charming. His icy blue eyes had ignited with fiery rage. _"Not a chance, Big Guy."

_Ember brought her knife down into Roger's chest just as Bogart was about to say something. The blast from the cannon stopped him in his tracks._

"Whoops… I was going to give him to you but then my hand slipped and long story short I stabbed him in the heart… My bad…" _Ember's quip sounded empty like despite her witty retort she took no pleasure it in. Where she had practically relished in the Ford's death, Roger's wasn't something she enjoyed. _

"Roger Matheson," _Kaiser's voice announced, _"coming in 21st place for the 26th Hunger Games."

"Yes," _agreed the other voice, _"This marks Ember Clay's second kill. Though a very poor showing with the career alliance…."

_There was more after that. More talk of who might win, speculation on why the Careers' performance had been suffering over the last few years. But Benjamin tuned it all out. With Roger's death it was like nothing else mattered. He had been more than a friend, like a brother to him actually. And now he was reduced to a number and one recycled sentence. Roger Matheson had been more than that._

_And now he was coming home in a pine box._

_Ben would never forget who killed him. The Capitol, the Hunger Games, and of course Ember Clay. Although she had done him a kindness, Ember had still held the knife._

* * *

The marquee was a relic of a dying dream. A dream of freedom. A message of hope. District Three had once been the intellectual hub for scientific pursuits. Now it was nothing more than an oppressed vassal to a fascist government.

_How the mighty had fallen, _Benjamin thought turning down an unlit alley. He turned his collar up to shield him from a cold gust of wind barreled toward him.

The night was unusually cold. The humidity in the air was non-existent, giving way to a monstrous cold front that chilled to the bone. Benjamin shivered, holding a small notebook in his hands. He marched forward rounding a corner. The corner gave way to an even dark part of the alley, leading to a single metal door.

As Ben approached he could make out a towering figure standing in the darkness. As he got closer still, he saw the man form of what he assumed was some kind of solo hired to guard the door.

"Um… I'm here to see…" Benjamin said, stopping about ten feet from the door and large shadow near it. If the solo wanted to zero him right in the alley way, there wouldn't be much Ben could do. But the doorman didn't say anything, he just opened the door and stepped aside so he could pass by.

"Uh… th-thanks…"

He needed to remind himself that he had to be careful. Just being caught in a place like this could get him shot in the town square for acts of seditions. If they found what was inside his notebook, that death sentence would all but be assured. So discretion wasn't just the better part of valor is was a matter of life and death.

After two years of searching, Ben had finally found a name of something that could might be able to help him; a deckjockey known by "The Cheese." Or at least Ben hoped that he could help. A name like "The Cheese," he didn't want to put all his faith in a lead like this.

The room was a small and dilapidated ruins of what used to be the office a data processing center. There were two chairs and he sat in the one facing the door for two reason. One: no one could sneak up on his. And two: the chair had had a sign that said: 'Sit here.'

Moments later the door swung open again and in walked a small teenager maybe 15 or so. Although Ben was always horrible at telling someone age so this kid could have been as young as 12 for all he knew.

"Hey, kid get out of here," Benjamin told the boy.

The boy scoffed, "You really think that man of burly burliness would let anyone passed him that wasn't supposed to get by?"

The kid had a point. "You work for the-"

The boy emphatically waved his hands at him until he stopped speaking.

"No names," the boy hissed. "But yea. I work for him. He doesn't like to do these meetings himself. So he has me vet any potential prospects."

"So he employs 12 year-olds to do his dirty work?" Ben was not impress.

But the kid didn't seem very impressed with him either. "Hey, I'm 14."

"My mistake," he replied, dryly.

"You want his help or not?" the kid pressed on.

Ben gave him a confused look. "I'm not sure."

"If you're looking for the best, he's the best deckjockey in history," the kid gushed.

"Yes, but can he do what I need him to do?" Ben asked.

"Depends. What do you need him to do? "

"I want to know if it's possible to break into the Arena's mainframe and override the controls," Ben told the kid.

The boy laughed. "You're mine kind of stupid, buddy."

Ben frowned. "I'm serious. Is it possible?"

"I'm serious too. That was hilarious. And living in a place like this a person could use a good laugh from time to time," the boy paused, offering Ben a soft smile before he took the seat in front of him. "So you want to know if it's possible to break into a heavily monitored government cortex and override the controls and I'm guessing, turn those controls over to someone else?"

Ben nodded. "Yes. And how long before they start running a trace."

"Oh they'll start the trace just as soon as someone enters the system. The trick isn't to go in undetected the trick is to be untraceable and that my humorless friend cannot be done without some magical untraceable thingy that hasn't been invented yet because we don't live in a science-fiction story," the boy replied.

Looking down at his notebook Ben wondered if this was all worth it. Roger had been dead two years. Was it really worth his life for the chance to take down the institution that killed him?

Benjamin handed over his notebook to the boy and he flipped through it with great interest. He could tell despite his way of speaking, this kid was knowledgeable in the craft. And he could also tell from the way his eyes lit up that he had something in those pages.

"And you have a working prototype?" the boy asked.

Ben smiled. "Yes. Two of them actually. I've been trying to make improvements."

The kid chuckled. "Like I said, you're my kind of stupid."

"Will he help me?" Ben asked.

The kid shrugged and then handed him back his notebook. "Yeah, sure. Besides, he likes sticking it to the Capitol anyway."

"You're the Cheese aren't you?" Ben asked, his narrowing.

"What? No…" the kid said quickly. "Okay. I'm the Cheese."

"You just a kid…"

The Cheese shrugged. "You were a kid once too. Back then if you could do something to them, anything that would make it just a little bit harder on them, would you have done it?"

Ben didn't even have to think. He just nodded. And the Cheese smiled, but Ben frowned. "What if you get reaped tomorrow? Who will help me?"

"If I get reaped tomorrow, you're fragged. There's no one else that can do what I do. So let's hope that doesn't happen." The kid turned to walk away. "Wait about 15 minutes and then walk out yourself."

"Wait!" Ben called after him. "How will I find you again?"

"You won't," he replied. "I'll find you."


	4. Pre-Reaping - District 6

**Veronica "Ronnie" Marsh: **Age 18, District Six  
_"They hurt me. So I'll hurt them. Only I'll be more direct about it."_

_Everyone was silent._

_It had been like this every time they came on camera. Everyone in the family was just stared at the screen, not saying a word to anyone. Occasionally someone would step outside for a smoke because there was no smoking allowed in the house, or someone had to go run an errand. But for the most part, everyone sat down watching the screen intently. Even when someone had to leave it was always with a hint of hesitation. The games could change at the drop of a hat; within a split second their whole world could fall apart. So of course no one wanted to go. But sometimes it couldn't be helped._

"_I'm out of here," the youngest of them said before she stormed out of the house. She could hear people calling after her. "Ronnie!" they shouted. "Come back, Ronnie."_

_She blocked them out. They could play into this if they wanted to. Ronnie would have nothing to do with it. And she didn't care what the rules were, she didn't care that viewing the Hunger Games in it's entirety was mandatory in her district. They could lock her up and throw away the key if they caught her._

_If, being the operative word there. Ronnie was a Marsh of District Six. And she wouldn't be caught so easily. If at all. The Capitol was afraid of the Marshes. As well as they should be. It was a Marsh in District Six that led the Rebellion against the Capitol. Her great-grandfather actually. So it wasn't surprising she was acting recklessly rebellious. The blood of rebels flowed through her veins._

_She didn't know how to be anything else._

_Ronnie wasn't paying attention to where she was going. The destination wasn't important. Only the objective, which was to get as far away from her house as possible. Besides, all off the buildings in District Six looked similar enough that it was easy to lose one's self if one didn't have a clue as to where exactly they were going._

_Almost every single building was made of red bricks, layered high above the ground with very little windows to let in the natural light. Those were just the ones left standing. It seemed that for every building standing, two had been reduced to blackened rubble; the charred remnants of a once fast-paced industrial district. It was a testament to how hard they had fought the Capitol during the Dark Days. Because other districts didn't look like this. The Capitol had to fight almost every rebel down to the last person before District Six surrendered. And that was rumored to have only happened because the Capitol had threatened to use nukes if they didn't lay down arms._

_Ronnie's great-grandfather was publicly executed for being the supposed leader of the Resistance. Supposed, because they couldn't prove anything until he confessed. And he only confessed to save others from the firing squad._

Not that it had helped… _she thought, rounding a corner into a narrow alley. The smell of death and human filth attacked her senses. Her nose crinkled in disgust. Her eyes watered. She swore loudly, which had been the worst thing she could have possibly done because as soon as she opened her mouth she swore she could taste it on her tongue._

"_For fuc-" Ronnie covered her mouth with her hands. She had heard something off in the distance._

_Some people said these stealth hovercrafts didn't make a sound. But those people just didn't know what to listen for. They made a very distinct hum. It sounded differently to everyone. To Ronnie it sounded… well sort of musical._

_She backed deeper into the alley. The smell was awful, but she couldn't be caught by a patrol. So she'd just have to bear it. The closer the hovercraft got, the further Ronnie backed into the alley. It stopped at the month of the alley. Ronnie was flush with the back wall. If it turned down the alley, she was screwed._

_The hovercraft turned down the alley._

"_I'm screwed," she said, involuntarily taking a step back. As soon as she did, Ronnie felt a portion of what she had thought was a solid wall give way. She tried to regain her balance but she flailed and fell._

_And kept falling; through the patched up hole in the wall, through another hole in the floor (if that was even possible), and down further still. She tumbled head over feet, accenting each roll with a muffled swear word. It hurt at first. But over time Ronnie went numb. Then she heard her arm snap and all on the feeling came rushing back. Ronnie could feel every bump, every bruise, every scrape. The worst was of course the forearm she was sure was broken._

_The hole spilled out into a dark concrete tunnel. Ronnie skidded to a stop and didn't make a move to get up. When she finally moved to get to her feet, she did so in stages._

_First she rolled onto her back. She kept her bad arm tucked against her chest and turned the other way to make sure she didn't hurt herself again. She laid on her back for a moment and tried to catch her breath. Then she moved to sit up, groaning as her muscles tightened, fighting her at every step. Ronnie rose to her knees and learned against the wall for support._

_The wall felt cool and damp against her forehead. She wanted to rear back in disgust but she was in pain and she needed a moment to gather up her strength for the final push. Ronnie braced herself against the wall, pain shooting out in all directions, as that was her broken arm she was using for support._

_"Mother-" She could barely form the word though her clenched jaw. She got to her feet, slowly; her eyes watery._

_"Where to go?" she asked herself. Ronnie looked to the left and then to the right. Each path appeared to be practically identical to the other._

_The tunnel looked like one of the abandoned ones from before. During the days before Sky Dark when trains didn't hover as they did now and everyone used them on a daily basis. It hasn't been as it was now. Trains weren't angels of death then. People used them freely._

_Ronnie tried to picture sound of metal wheels on metal rails. The service lights must have looked like little shooting stars as they zipped by. She had heard that the third rail could kill a person with just one touch. She tried to imagine it but she couldn't. The railroad was missing large sections. The service lights were either shattered or without power. And the dangerous third rail was cold to the touch. (Of course she touched it.)_

_As Ronnie decided which way to go, she searched her pockets for her cigarettes and trusty lighter. With her good arm she fished a cigarette out of a crushed pack she pulled from her front pocket; the lighter was found in the other pocket._

Thank the One, _she thought lighting the cigarette. Ronnie inhaled the toxic smoke and sighed contently. It helped; it was a repetitive habit that took her out of herself for the next five minutes. She didn't have to think about the stiffness in her joints. Or the constant throb deep in her arm that pulsated in time with her heartbeat. Or the fact she was probably trapped. Or her cousin fighting for her life in the Arena. All she had to do was focus on smoking._

_However the cigarette eventually burned down to the butt; reduces to smoke and ash. And that was the last, smokable cigarette she had left. Well, it was the push Ronnie needed to get moving._

_Left or right? That was the question. Ronnie arbitrarily chose right. Because it seemed just as good as the left. She wasn't a tunnel rat like her cousin, Olivia was. If she had been here she could have gotten Ronnie out of this. But there was a chance - more than a chance - that Olive wasn't coming home._

_Ronnie walked. And walked. And walked. She walked even though each step made her cringed, trying to push passed a pain that was almost unbearable. Each tiny movement of her right arm felt like a thousand tiny needles being plunged into her arm. Bone slid across bone and the sensation was absolutely excruciating._

_But she pushed through. She kept going. And Ronnie felt stupid for leaving home for once. Not that she'd ever let anyone know that. Still, she couldn't lie to herself. Leaving had been a mistake. Clearly._

_The pathway of tunnels looked identical to her starting point. And when everything appeared hopeless, Ronnie came across an old loading platform. Pillars when marked with black paint. Numbers, a name of a street that didn't exist anymore, and an arrow with the word exit underneath it._

Thank the One...

_She followed the arrows that lead her up some stairs. Just as Ronnie thought salvation had come she saw the entrance bricked off._

_She swore and loudly. Her voice echoed, giving her a profane chorus to her curses. She kicked the wall, hard. Her foot nearly snapping due to the force of her blow, which in turn made her swear. Louder this time and with more feeling. Ronnie was trapped. And that was finally starting to sink in._

_She slid down the wall and gave up. They'd never find her body._

Nope, Ronnie was just as unstable as her mother… If she ran away and never came back… well, they do say that train never travels too far from the station…

_Even dead her mother clouded everything she did. Ronnie had to run everything through the filter of "What would my mother do?" and then of course do the opposite. That in a strange way brought her to a path her mother had walked 20 years ago. The path of rebellion. The path of the social pariah. Like mother, like daughter, they'd tell her. And Ronnie hated every minute of it._

_She picked her head up at the sound of voices._

"_Are you sure you heard something, man?"_

"_Yeah, I'm sure. A girl."_

_The first person laughed. "Jimmy, this thing you got for damsels in distress is gonna kill you one day."_

_Ronnie could hear the irritation in Jimmy's voice. "James. Not Jim. Not Jimmy. Not Jim-Bob. James. And shut up and search the service door over there. I'll check the platform."_

"_Sir, yes sir!"_

_And the conversation died down._

_Ronnie crept down the steps. If she had been healthy, she could have done this blindfolded, hopping on one foot. But she was severely injured. And each step had to be taken with an intense deliberation. She kept her back from the wall; through that would have helped, it also would have made noise. She didn't move without knowing exactly where she was moving to. Each step had to be well thought out, planned. There was no room for mistakes. Mistakes meant noise. And making noise could be a death sentence. Especially, if these guys were Peacekeepers._

_She could hear James lifting himself onto the platform. Something slid across the ground and she could hear James swear, softly to himself._

"_You drop your gun again… __James__?"_

"_No," James replied. He carried on quickly to himself. "Asshole thinks he's funny. He ain't funny."_

_Ronnie smiled at that. But she now knew he was strapped. And that meant she needed to get the drop on him. She couldn't wait and see if they were Peacekeepers or not. They were armed and she wasn't._

_Once she got to the bottom of the stairs and it was only then that she allowed herself to carefully lean against the wall for support. She heard James' steps inch closer toward her. And with each step he took, Ronnie's heart sped up. Their confrontation was drawing near and she held her breath when she saw the light of a flashlight illuminate the wall to her left. As the wash of light grew in size, she knew the closer he was coming._

Just a little closer…

_She saw his gun before she saw him. It was hard to tell in the this light but he couldn't have been much older than she was. Not tall but not short. She couldn't see his face. Sbe wasn't focusing on his face. That wasn't important. And soon as his legs came into view when he rounded the corner, Ronnie attacked with her good arm._

_She chopped at the back of one of his knees, which brought him down. And as he went to the ground she sprang up, grabbed the back of his head, and slammed her knee into his face. That had dazed him. And she used those few seconds to force his head into the wall. His gun flew out of his hands and Ronnie rushed for it, picking it up with her good arm._

_She aimed at the groaning young man, slouched down and defeated._

"_Nothing personal, Jimmy."_

"_J-James…"_

"_Yea, I know, I like-"_

_The blow came from behind. The heavy metal butt of something bigger than the pistol she had in her hands came hard down on the back of her head. It brought her down to her knees just like she had down with James. And the second blow made the world got dark._

* * *

"_You hit her too hard."_

"_Too hard? She had your gun trained on you. What was I supposed to do? I mean, look at your face?"_

"_I'm alright."_

"_You don't look alright. You look like you-"_

"_Don't say 'got hit by a train.'"_

"_I was going to say 'fell out of the ugly tree.' But okay. We'll go with your thing."_

"_Bite me… You still shouldn't have have hit her that hard. You see that red hair. She's either a Tully or a Marsh. Either way, you think the Old Bulldog is gonna be happy you bashed one of his grandchildren in the head?"_

"_Okay, I'm going to speak slowly and use small words so you understand me, Jim. She. Had. A. Gun. Trained. On. You. Gun. You. Bullet. Here. Mean. You. Dead. You got that?"_

"_Yea… I got that…"_

_It was the voices that drew her back. She wanted to say make some witty quip but all that came out was a groan. Her eyes fluttered open but she shut them against the harsh lighting in the room she was being held in._

"_She's waking up," she heard James say._

"_I'll get the doc."_

"_And the Old Bulldog. He's gonna wanna take her home just as soon as she can move."_

"_Right… Just make sure you don't get beat up again while I'm gone, Jimmy."_

"_It's James… ass…"_

"_I like Jimmy…" Ronnie said just as soon as she found her voice._

"_Well," James replied. "I don't."_

_Ronnie chuckled and groaned at the pain that had a vice-like grip on her head. "Jimmy, do me a favor a kill the lights."_

_She smiled when she heard him sigh and walk over to the light switch. The moment the area surrounding her dimmed, Ronnie could open her eyes. Her good hand reached for the back of her head and felt bandages. Her broken arm had been encased in a cast. And someone had even cleaned up the minor scrapes she had gotten from her initial fall._

_Ronnie glanced up at James, her gaze falling on his busted nose and the two black eyes she had apparently given him. The nose was broken. And when it healed it wouldn't look the same as it had before. Through the bruises she could see the handsome young man underneath. He had short dark brown hair that was spiked at the top. And he was watching her with intense silvery blue eyes._

"_I knew it," she said, lazily._

_He frowned at her in confusion. "Knew what?"_

"_That you were hot," she confessed._

_James chuckled and looked down at his feet. "Yeah… well… You thought I was cute and still went kicked my ass?"_

_Ronnie her head. "Bunnies are cute. I assumed you were hot. But that didn't mean I wasn't going to hurt you. You had a gun. You might've been a peacekeeper. I couldn't take that risk… Even for a hottie."_

_He smirked, shaking his head. "What's your name?"_

"_Ronnie," she replied._

_James wanted for her to say more and when she didn't he asked her another question. "You got a last name?"_

_Ronnie rolled her eyes. "Yes. Do you?"_

_He nodded. "Yea. It's Micheals…"_

"_James Micheals? That's your name?"_

_He nodded again and Ronnie laughed._

"_You know that Micheals isn't a last name. It's a first name. You've got two first names, Jimmy," she replied._

"_James." He frowned. "And Micheals is a proper last name."_

"_Okay, you keep telling yourself that, Jimmy," Ronnie teased._

_James rolled his eyes. "Anyone ever tell you that you're the most annoying person they have ever met?"_

_Ronnie smirked. "It's come up once or twice…"_

"_You still haven't told me your last name…"_

"_You're right. I haven't." He already knew it. What was the point? "So whose face do I have to sit on in order to get a smoke 'round here."_

_James coughed. And Ronnie laughed. It wasn't everyday that one made a boy choke on air. Though Ronnie did seem to have this effect on people most days. And she had to give James a few points for how quickly he recovered._

"_That would be Jerkins," he replied, his cheeks returning to a normal color instead of that bright red they were earlier._

"_You mean that tubby guy that was here before?" she asked. James nodded, and Ronnie made a face. "Ew… I was thinking about quitting anyway."_

_James threw back his head and laughed, heartily. He walked over to her bedside and removed a pack of smokes. He fished two cigarettes out and handed her one. She smiled, putting it between her lips._

"_Light my fire?" she asked._

_He lit her cigarette and then his own. "Anytime."_

_Silence befell them for a moment._

_Then Ronnie spoke. "So I guess this means I owe you a date."_

"_Oh is that what the kids are callin' it these days?"_

_She cocked an eyebrow. "Kid? You don't look that much older than me."_

"_I'm 19."_

"_See, three years. That's not much of a gap."_

"_A lot can happen in three years, Ronnie…"_

"_Marsh… is my last name. But you already knew that. Red hair in this part of District Six, I must be a Marsh or a Tully, right?" she asked, getting a little annoyed. James was proving to be just like everyone else. Because of her age people assumed she didn't know anything. She knew plenty. And she wasn't a naive idealist. She knew how the real world worked. Because of her last name people assumed she would act a certain way. Marsh or Tully, you were raised to be honorable, loyal, honest, and respectful. Ronnie couldn't be that person. And she felt like there was so much pressure on her to be that person. To be like her cousin Liv._

_Well, Ronnie wasn't a carbon copy of Olivia Tully._

"_You seem bitter 'bout that," James observed._

_Ronnie cut her eyes at him. "If you were me…" she took a drag from her cigarette and exhaled. "...you'd be bitter about it too."_

"_With a last name Marsh, you're already a hero in a lot of people's eyes," James said._

_Ronnie shook her head. "You really believe that, don't you?" When he nodded, she chuckled. "You're an idiot."_

"_You're a bitch."_

"_Yes. A bitch that kicked your ass, Jimmy. And don't you forget about it."_

_He scoffed and walked away without trying to get the last word. Ronnie smirked, victoriously. James may be attractive but whatever. He was drinking the Rebellion Punch. And he believed everything about it. Like the Resistance was all that special. Yes, her father, mother, and uncle had all been members at one time or another. And her and Liv occasionally did work for them. But it didn't mean that Ronnie really felt like she was one of them, or that they were fighting for the right cause. Not the right side, because she didn't know anyone that was rooting for the Capitol. But for the right cause. She wasn't even sure this was right way to go about getting their freedom. The Capitol only knew one thing. And that was inflicting pain. They only responded to force. Force was the only way they'd regain their freedom._

"_You shouldn't smoke, gariníon."_

_Ronnie looked up at the older man at the door and took a long, slow drag from her cigarette. He was in his early sixties, though he had aged well and didn't look a day over 50. His own copper colored hair had light to a grayish flaxen color. His bread was a graying strawberry blond color. He stared at her, his blue eyes filled with worry. He limped toward her, leaning on the smooth wooden cane he had for as long as she could remember. He removed his hat when he got close to her and smiled._

"_Daideó, don't look at me like that," she told him._

"_Like what, Ronnie?" he asked._

_She sighed, looking away from him. "Like I'm your precious, little granddaughter."_

_He chuckled. "You are my precious, little granddaughter."_

_She shot him a look. "Isn't that Olivia?"_

"_I wasn't aware I could only have one," he replied. "To me, both of you will always be the little babies I bounced on my knees."_

_Ronnie stuck her tongue out in disgust. "Gross, daideó."_

_The elderly man laughed. "I'm going to get you home. And you're going to tell me how you found your way into the tunnels along the way."_

* * *

_Ronnie had told her grandfather the whole story. Running away from the house because she couldn't watch Liv in the Arena anymore. Being almost caught by a patrol. Falling down an old service tunnel to the old underground train tunnels. She told him about meeting up with James and Jerkins. She told him about attacking James and being knocked out. Ronnie didn't hold back. Not because she was afraid of him. He was a scary man when he wanted to be. But because she trusted her grandfather. He was one of the few adults besides, her aunt Mira that she could confide in completely without fear of judgement._

"_You got the drop on one of my men…" he laughed, wiping away the tears from his eyes. "I'm going to have to have a talk with Micheals about that. I've heard that boy can't hold onto his pistol to save his life."_

_Ronnie smiled. "It's true. I had him dead to rights."_

_She looked behind her at the Resistance member covering their rear and smiled as he glared at her. James had pulled escort duty and was walking them to her house. His nose had been patched up. But the bruises around his eyes darken. He didn't look too happy either._

"_Chin up, Jimmy," she told him. "Could be worse."_

_He arched an eyebrow at her and only said, "James."_

"_Something's wrong…" Her grandfather breathed once they got to a small house at the edge of the District. Beyond this last row of houses was the Train Graveyard, which was simply just an old train depot that had fallen into disrepair. Over time, it had become a place where they buried their dead._

"_What's going on, daideó?" Ronnie asked, scanning the front porch of her home which was the last house on the left. She could see a young man, a few years older than James, sitting on the front porch with his head in his hands. But she could see his brilliant red hair that marked him as one of her grandfathers._

_It must have been Paxton because Calum hadn't dared to return home since he became a peacekeeper._

"_Stay here, Ronnie," her grandfather. "James, stay with her until I come back."_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_And James?"_

"_Yes, sir?"_

"_Hold onto your pistol."_

"_Yes, sir…"_

"_Bullshit I'm staying here," Ronnie cut in._

_And her grandfather shot a look that sent a chill down her spine._

"_You will stay here, Veronica until I come for you."_

_She cringed at being called by her given name. But obeyed for once and watched her grandfather walk over to her house with butterflies in her stomach._

"_Your name is Veronica?" James asked, trying to break the tension, she assumed._

_But Ronnie didn't have time for that. "Shut up, Jimmy."_

"_Whatever you say… Veronica."_

"_I wish I had shot you…" she muttered to herself, feeling powerless as the scene unfolded before her._

_Paxton looked up as their grandfather approached. He tried to form words but couldn't and just flung his arms around the older man and broke down. The door opened and a woman with red hair the same shade as Ronnie's walked out. Her aunt. Even from this distance there was no mistaking her for anything other than beautiful. But there was a heaviness that hung in the air around her. And the way she rushed over to Ronnie's grandfather confirmed her worst fears._

_As Ronnie took a step forward she could feel James' arms wrap around her waist, pulling her back. She fought against his grip but he held her in place._

"_Get off of me," she said._

"_No," he replied._

"_James, I swear to the One if you don't get your hands off of me, I will kill you," Ronnie threatened._

_She saw her aunt look up toward her. Words were being exchanged between her and Ronnie's grandfather. And then her aunt came jogging to her. But James held on._

"_Let go of her, lad," her grandfather called to him and that's when Ronnie could move again. She took off toward her aunt and they met somewhere in the middle. Her aunt took her face in her hands, tears rolling down her cheeks._

"_She's gone..." was all Ronnie heard before her world shattered and she dissolved into sobbing mess, sinking with her aunt's arms around her. They crumpled to the ground, her aunt held Ronnie close, and stroke her head._

* * *

"_A person that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. They cometh up, and are cut down, like flowers; they fleeth as they were shadows, and never continueth in one stay._

"_In the midst of life we are in death; of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O One, who for our sins art justly displeased?_

"_Yet, One most holy, O One most mighty, O holy and most merciful One, deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death._

"_Thou knowest, O One, the secrets of our hearts; shut not thy merciful ears to our prayer; but spare us, One most holy, O One most mighty, O holy and merciful One, thou most worthy Judge eternal, suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from thee," the priest began at the grave._

_Funerals in District Six were somber, long affairs. A lot of sitting and standing and crying and praying. How could Ronnie have forgotten that? There were prayers for going into the worship house. Prayers for being inside the worship house but before viewing the body. Prayers for after viewing the body before leaving the worship house. Prayers for the funeral procession. And finally prayers for being at the graves. So many damn prayers. It was hard to keep track._

"_We commend to the One, the souls of our brother and sister, Caleb Hunnington and Olivia Tully-" the priest began until someone called out to him._

"_Hunnington. Olivia Hunnington. They were married."_

_Ronnie would have smirked. And there was a part of her that wanted to believe that her cousin was watching over this moment and laughing her ass off. She wanted to believe that. But she couldn't._

_The priest nodded. "We commend to the One, the souls of our brother and sister, Caleb Hunnington and Olivia Hunnington. And so we commit their bodies to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life, through the One, at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the world, the earth and the sea shall give up their dead; and the corruptible bodies of those who sleep in him shall be changed, and made like unto his own glorious body; according to the mighty working whereby he is able to subdue all things unto himself._

"_Let us pray._

"_The One who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, As it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; But deliver us from evil. So shall it be."_

_The people around them said in unison, "So shall it be."_

_And two caskets were lowered into the ground._

* * *

"I've got to go…" Ronnie said pulling her shirt over her head. She was already a bit late. Or rather she would be tardy if she didn't take any of those dangerous shortcuts people kept telling her not to take. As if she had any intention of heading those warnings. So technically if game her a few minutes to spare. However, Ronnie intended to use that time putting her clothes back on.

"So you said the last time," was his reply. His hands were up behind his head as he laid sprawled on his bed with a look of smug satisfaction plastered on his handsome face. He was proud of his performance, Ronnie suspected. He flashed her a knowing a smirk. "Then you didn't leave."

She rolled her eye and turned away from him to reach for her boots. As she slipped them on she felt the bed move. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her against him, sweeping her hair to the side.

"Stay," he whispered.

It was tempting; his offer to remain behind with him, to lose herself, to forget. But she had responsibilities, obligation that took precedence over her selfish needs. She was a Marsh of District Six, she didn't have the luxury of giving into her more sybaritic tendencies.

"I can't," she replied, her voice breathy.

His hands began to roam freely, exploring her as if it were a well-practiced routine. One hand trailed up her inner thigh, the other disappeared under her shirt. He kissed her neck, moving up until he could nuzzle the crook of her neck. Her body reacted and she sighed, contently. She could almost hear the grin in his voice. "Stay."

"I need to go…" Ronnie told him, though her resolve was slowly melting away. His hand slid further up her legs and he bit down on her earlobe. She inhaled sharply, arching her back, and swore.

"Stay," he purred again.

"Jimmy, get off of me," she said, shrugging off his embrace so she could lace up her boots. Without him literally breathing down her neck, Ronnie could think straight. As much as she wanted to stay, her duties called her elsewhere.

James frowned. "Whatever."

She rolled her eyes. James was gorgeous, and normally if he asked a girl to stay, they stayed. So he wasn't used to rejection, and tended to pout when Ronnie refused him outright. If she wasn't running short on time, she'd have hung back just to stroke his… ego a bit. As it was, she just didn't have the time. And James was a grown man. If he honestly needed his ego stroked, he could do it himself.

"As always, it's been swell, but the swelling's gone down," Ronnie said, slipped her jacket on. She fixed her hair and threw him a wink.

This time it was James that rolled his eyes and sighed. "One of these days I'm gonna get you to spend the night with me."

_Oh so this is what this is about…_ Ronnie thought.

Absent-mindedly she fiddled with the metal cross on a thin chain around her neck. The cross had been a gift from her grandfather on her fifth birthday. A few months before her father was executed. Her grandfather made it himself by coiling metal wire in and around itself. Each of his direct descendants had a cross just like this one.

"_Our faith is what gives us the strength to persevere,"_ he'd tell them as he presented them with the cross.

On the eve of their first reaping they'd receive an old pendant. It was placed on the same chain as the cross. Unlike the cross this wasn't handcrafted. It was a relic from before the Fall; before an event sometimes called "Sky Dark." The pendants were family heirloom given to each of the Marsh descendants based on the child's needs and personality. Ronnie's was St. Joan of Arc. The patron saint of female soldiers.

James chuckled, and shook his head. "That still kills me. That you still wear that."

Ronnie frowned. "My grandfather gave it to me."

"I know."

"Okay, so don't mock me. You know why I wear it."

James sighed. "I know. But what I don't know is why you won't stay the night with me."

She groaned. "Seriously?... How are you this insecure?"

He frowned. "I'm usually not. Just when it comes to you."

Ronnie rolled her eyes. The pretty ones were always so damaged. James had no reason to be this unassured. Naturally, she didn't believe it. Boys like James were always running some sort of game.

"Nice line…" she scoffed. "Does it ever work?"

James scowled. "Why do you always do that?"

She blinked at him. "Do what?"

"Don't play dumb, Ronnie," he fired back. "You act like you don't trust me."

Ronnie looked at him. She didn't have time for this. If James didn't think she trusted him that was a James problem. Not a Ronnie problem.

"I have to-"

"Go?" James scoffed. "Yeah, I know."

* * *

"_**Curfew is in effect,"**_ the loudspeaker blared, cutting through the night. "_**Violators will be taken to the Justice Building to await judgment."**_

_If you can catch me, fuckers…._ Ronnie silently challenged the Powers that Be. She hadn't been apprehended… yet. As her grandfather always said, "All it takes is one bad day, Veronica."

She frowned at the memory. Only her aunt and grandfather called her by her given name. Only her aunt and grandfather didn't seem to care that she despised her given name. Everyone else knew better. But those two only saw her mother's loving gesture. Azalea Marsh had named her for a favorite grandmother and her grandfather's dead wife. Veronica Elizabeth Marsh. She hated it.

The streets of District Six were quiet and Ronnie mostly kept to the shadows. She heard the rats scurry away when she dipped into an alleyway to avoid patrols. They'd flash spotlights down the alley but as long as she didn't make her presence known they wouldn't send the scanner drones out for a closer look. So she'd be fine.

Ronnie took evasive maneuvers to make sure she didn't have a patrol on her six. She didn't go anywhere at night in a straight line. She didn't want anyone knowing where she was going, or where she had come from. It made the trip at least twice as long (even with the shortcuts) but it was worth the added sense of security.

As she rounded a corner that out of the alley to the train graveyard, Ronnie glanced back once more to make sure she hadn't been followed. When she was sure no one was behind her, she moved through the train graveyard at a more relaxed pace. Now if she got caught she could just play as if she was some teenager looking for one last romp in the graveyard before their last Reaping. They'd be more lenient if it was only that.

The train graveyard was dead silent, save for the small packs of stray dogs howling and cats mewing. They somehow managed to not get eaten by some of District Six's poorest. And that always surprised her. Or maybe she simply underestimated their will to survive.

Her steps seemed to echo and there was something off putting about that. How the steps weren't quite in time with hers unnerved Ronnie. That couldn't be right.

She dipped between two train husks and ducked down. Most people never checed above or below their line of sight. If someone was following her they may not look for her here.

The echo got closer. And closer. Ronnie only had one shot. If she couldn't drop the echo in one swift blow then there was a chance they could remember her face. And that was one step remove from finding out her name which would linked her to her grandfather and to the Resistance. That wasn't something she could allow. Not when she was this close to rendezvous point.

She pulled a blade out of an ankle sheath and picked up a stick with her off hand.

_Well I guess this is the night that bitches die..._

As soon as the echo turned the corner Ronnie whacked him in the shins and then swept out his legs. When the echo went down she leapt on him and pressed the blade to his throat.

"Ronnie?" he choked.

"Jimmy?" She eased the blade away from him.

He frowned. "James."

She hit him. "What the hell are you doing here? Did you follow me?"

James rubbed his cheek. Ronnie supposed that she didn't have to hit him with a closed fist. But he had surprised her.

"No," he replied. "I'm your contact for this mission."

She hit him again.

"Okay... ow."

"You're my contact? What the fu-"

"The Old Bulldog thought it might be easier on your first real mission to have a familiar face with you," he explained.

Someone dropped from atop one of the trains near them. "Two familiar faces, actually."

Ronnie turned to see her cousin Paxton Tully standing there. He'd buzzed off his curly red locks recently, giving him a harder look. A seasoned soldier. The flickering lights of the street lamps gave his blue eyes an almost supernatural glow. He looked less like his older brother and more like his father. Which Ronnie supposed was the reason he did it.

_We do strange shit not to resemble people that have been nothing but disappointments to us. _

Ronnie knew about that more than most.

"So daideó thought I needed babysitters?" she asked. "Great."

Paxton almost smiled. Almost. Pax didn't smile much anymore. "Well you are the baby of the bunch..."

"You wanna start with me?" she fired off at him.

And he put his arms up in mock surrender. "Hey don't look at me. I wanted to tell you about it. But you know how our grandfather is. Especially when it comes to you."

_Because of Olivia..._

Her grandfather was a different man now. He was still the same in many ways. But Ronnie could see the subtle differences in the way he dealt with her. He treated her like she was his precious little princess. Trying to mold her into the grandchild he lost. Ronnie hated living in Liv's shadow. But at the same time she couldn't hate her grandfather for trying to hold on to Olivia's memory.

She looked at James. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"You gonna let me up?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not until you tell me."

"Because I was testing to see if you'd stay."

She hit him for a third time.

* * *

Despite the initial snag, the trio made it to the second rendezvous point. Mostly because Ronnie had set the pace, briskly walking ahead of the two boys as they jogged to keep up.

She could hear her cousin giving James advice.

"You messed up, James. You can't tame a Marsh. And they don't like to be cornered. That's when they'll snap at you; when you've backed them against a wall."

Though she wasn't fond of the analogy, Ronnie couldn't argue with his logic. She felt like she was being cornered; like James was pushing her to be someone she could never be. She never play the part of the safe house wife. That wasn't quite her style. The pressure would just make her crack before she would let anyone mold her into someone she wasn't. If James couldn't see that maybe it wasn't meant to be. Not that she believed in that either.

_Love is for children. _

Ronnie stopped walked and fished out her cigarettes. She lit one and when Paxton cleared his throat she turned on her heels, glaring at him.

"Not. One. Word."

Again Paxton surrendered and glanced at James. "You really messed up."

James sighed. "I do that a lot."

"Did he lose his gun again?"

"Daideó!" the two redheads exclaimed with genuine surprise.

James nodded respectfully. "Good evening, sir."

"Good evening to you, boyo," Ronnie's grandfather greeted. He stepped out from the shadows, his pipe glowing at the end. He tipped up his woolen cap and smiled at his grandchildren, the light catching the scuff of hair that grew in patches on his chin. He eyed Ronnie for a moment until she flicked her cigarette away with an exacerbated sigh. After that he scanned area around them.

"Daideó, what are you doing here?" Paxton asked.

"Because I thought you might want the help," he replied.

"Of course, sir," James said with a nod.

Ronnie rolled her eyes. "Ever the fucking brass polisher, Jimmy."

"Language, Veronica," her grandfather chided.

James smirked. "Yeah, _Veronica_."

Her eyes narrowed. "I can still hurt you."

"You punched me in the face," he pointed out.

Ronnie nodded. "Three times... Today."

Paxton cocked an eyebrow. "How often does she hit you in the face?"

James shrugged. "Usually, only happens two - three times a week."

Their elder tapped his wooden pipe on a metal sheet behind him. "Are you finished?"

Paxton and James were silent. But Ronnie scoffed. "Not finished. James and I are more than friends. I was at his place before coming here." She lit cigarette. "Now I'm done." Ronnie pointed pass her grandfather. "This way?"

* * *

"Are they late?" Paxton asked, impatiently pacing around the grave markers. This place was making him uneasy. Understandably so. Olivia and Caleb had been laid to rest just yards away. The scrap metal that has been wielded together to make their headstones looked like dark pools of water in the darkness.

Ronnie fought the urge to gape at them. As if she could through sheer force of will bring them back to life by staring at their tombstones long enough. After her father and her uncle were executed she found out there was no amount of prayer could raise the dead.

"Patience is a virtue, my garmhac," her grandfather told Paxton loading his pipe with loose tobacco.

A deep, rolling chuckle filled the dead air around them.

James went for his pistol. Paxton follow suit. Two knives seemed to appear in Ronnie's hands. Only her grandfather remained unmoved. And when Ronnie looked up she could see why.

Six rifles were fixed on them. Red dots from the laser sights were trained on their chests save for her grandfather. He had three pointed at him. Two aimed for his chest. The other aimed for his head.

Ronnie's grandfather stood outwardly unflapped, casually smoking his pipe. Standing tall against men clad in gleaming white armor. And Ronnie frowned. How had they not seen any of them?

A seventh and eighth peacekeeper simmered into existence feet in front of them. At first Ronnie thought it was a trick of the light. Or rather lack there of. But the realized she had seen that tell-tale shimmer before. On the hovercrafts right before they uncloaked themselves. The Peacekeepers could do that with their individual armor now? That was definitely new.

One removed his helmet, grin plastered on his face. He was her grandfather's age (though if Ronnie was honest anyone older than 40 sort of looked like they could be as old as her grandfather). He had jet black hair, buzzed down low to his head and dark brown eyes. His skin was pale but there was slight tan. The sign of a former soldier. Someone that had been station at a far off place. District Eleven, or District Four. Somewhere sunny and warm.

He chuckled, and it was that same laugh that had pierce the night.

"Seamus, you old dog…"

"Fenton," Ronnie's grandfather said with a slight nod.

There was a brief pause before Fenton called out to his underlings. "Stand-down boys! This is a friend of the movement."

To Ronnie's never-ending surprise, they peacekeepers lowered their weapons. She looked to her grandfather and he nodded, signaling that they should do the same. For once, she wasn't the only one who reluctantly complied. James and Paxton were hesitant too. Still, they all trusted Seamus. So they holstered their weapons.

"Still recruiting from the family line, eh?" Fenton asked, regarding Ronnie and her redheaded cousin, Paxton.

"Until the war is won there be someone with Marsh blood fightin' it," Seamus replied, solemnly adding. "The One willing."

Fenton nodded, his eyes flickering to the twin gravestones. "Yes. Sorry about your granddaughter. She was a good kid. And a damn fine tribute. The best that District 6 has seen in a while. Her and her man… They made it far. Wish they could have both come home."

Silence befell them and Ronnie looked between James and Paxton's bewildered looks. She took it upon herself to speak out loud what they were probably thinking.

"What in the flying fuck is going on?"

Peacekeepers snickered. Fenton smiled. But Seamus frowned.

"Veronica…" he begin to say. But Ronnie cut him off.

"Language. Yeah, I know. But daideó, seriously what is going on?" she asked.

"How do you think we're able to do the things we do, gariníon?" he replied. "With help."

"You know who she reminds me of?" Fenton asked, Seamus.

Ronnie glared at him. "Who, my mother?"

"No, sweetling, your father," Fenton told her. "He got me to join, you know? He told me gather people like me. People that couldn't stand by and watch the Games without doing something about it. I owe your father and grandfather everything."

The Peackeeper standing next to him spoke. "Sir, we should complete the mission and get back to base."

The voice sounded familiar but Ronnie couldn't place it. Paxton, however, recognized it right away.

"Calum?" he asked, inching forward. "Is that you?"

The Peacekeeper removed his helmet. He and Paxton had a similar look. Stocky, broad shouldered, like their father. But the coloring; the deep red hair and the watery blue eyes, made them Seamus' grandsons.

"Hello, Paxton. Ronnie…" Calum greeted, quietly. He met Seamus' gaze and quickly lowered his eyes to the ground. "Hello, daideó."

"Calum…"

"I don't mean to call the family reunion short, but time as they say is of the essence," Fenton said.

Seamus nodded. "You have the payload?"

Fenton grinned. "Came today. I took it from an envoy coming in from District Two."

Seamus frowned. "District Two? They're not loyal to the cause."

"I know," Fenton replied. "That's why it was brilliant. She's a clever one."

"Who's a clever one?" Ronnie asked.

"The Right Hand, sweetling," Fenton said. "Not bad for a tiny lumberjack, eh?"

Seamus shook his head. "It's folly to underestimate her or the Left Hand. Many people have in the past. Look for them now…"

"They're in the ground for the most part. But they survived because there was someone else willing to do the killing," Fenton pointed out.

"Sir?" Calum asked.

Fenton called the others. "Boys bring the Old Bulldog his bones…"

Two peacekeepers descended from their perches and retrieved large wooden crates. They had dark letters and numbers stamped on them that Ronnie couldn't really make sense of. Schweizerische Industrie Gesellschaft Sturmgewehr 551.

"James, Paxton… take the creates," Seamus ordered the boys before nodding to Calum. "It's good to see you finally chose the right side, boyo."

Calum nodded. "So long as there is a war to fight, someone with Marsh blood will be there to fight it."

Seamus smiled. "Don't be a stranger, my garmhac."

"I won't."

* * *

"Why aren't you asleep yet?" Seamus' voice wrapped around Ronnie like a warm blanket, shielding her from the wind.

She looked over her shoulder as he moved to sit beside her, handing her a cup of hot tea which she accepted. "Thanks."

"You did well tonight, Ver- Ronnie," he said.

She smiled and nodded, putting her face over the warm liquid. "I did okay. I still didn't see all of those Peacekeepers."

"None of us did, lass," Seamus replied. "They weren't meant to be unseen."

"I should have seen it," Ronnie said.

Seamus nodded. "Maybe. Maybe you're young and you've got time to get better."

Ronnie sighed and they went quiet for a moment, leaving her to her thoughts. Tomorrow was her last reaping. This was supposed to be a shared experience her and her cousin Olivia, looking forward to having their whole lives ahead of them. But Olivia was turning to dust and bones in a box under six feet of dirt. And Ronnie was still here. She couldn't help but think there were people around here that wished that Olivia had survived and Ronnie had been the one lost in the Games.

"I like James," her grandfather said, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Good lad…"

Ronnie looked at Seamus and then quickly turned away. "Yeah, he's a good guy…"

Seamus frowned. "You know, it was about 20 years ago when your father was telling me about this girl… She had a reputation, this girl. A lot of people didn't think to highly of her. She rebelled like some girls do when they've been brought up in the Worship House." He gave her a pointed look. "But he loved her. You could hear it in his voice. The way he carried on about her… You just knew it was love. And she loved him too. That love made her want to be a better person. Sometimes that's all it takes."

"Yea, and then when he dies I can break like she did," Ronnie scoffed.

Seamus put a heavy hand on her shoulder which made her meet his gaze. "You, Veronica Marsh, are my granddaughter. You hail from a long line of soldiers and honorable warriors. There is nothing in the world that the One sends a Marsh that we can't handle. Whatever tomorrow brings, whatever happens, you'll raise to the occasion. You are your mother's daughter, Ronnie. There's no escaping that. But you'll never be your mother. You'll never be my Andrew. You are your own person. Stronger, wiser than both of your parents. Better than me."

Tears pooled in eyes and she blinked them away. Her and grandfather sat there until the sun rose over the empty skeletons of trains and she felt… at peace.


	5. Pre-Reaping - District 7

**Wistar Noland: **Age 17, District Seven  
_"I'm a Noland. And we have this annoying habit of always being right."_

_She was having another night terror and there was nothing he could do about it._

_For years it had been like this. He'd watch her sleep to make sure she'd be okay; to make sure she could sleep through the night. But she never slept through the night. She couldn't. That's when she was the most vulnerable; when she dreamed and those dreams turned into twisted versions of a nightmare she couldn't escape from._

_She'd wake up screaming sometimes, a person's name on the tip of her tongue. Or he'd hear her mutter two names in her sleep over and over again. _

"_Cade Blackstone: District Two… Cain Garron: District Ten…"_

_The names of the two tributes she killed._

_He wished he could take that hurt away; erase those memories so she could just going back to the girl she used to be. The girl that would read him adventure stories when he couldn't sleep, the girl that spoon feed him soup when he was sick, the girl that was over head shorter than him now (since his growth spurt) but could still make him feel two inches tall with just a look, the girl that was technically a cousin but felt more of a sibling than his three older brothers._

_She was his best friend, advisor, and guardian. He hated seeing her like this. She was a trembling mess, trying to fight ghosts that would never let her rest. And she deserved to have some peace. She had earned some peace. But she would never have it. _

_Another thing __they_ _took from her. The Capitol had robbed her of her freedom, her innocence, and any sort of normalcy she may have found in the future. _

_She was a hollow shell of what she once was. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it._

_He had been watching her for lifetimes it seemed. At first those deep breaths were even, steady. Then something happened. Her eyes began to move rapidly beneath her closed lids. She was dreaming. And then that dream shifted; turned bad. And her breathing changed with it. It became hurried and shallow. Finally, she sat straight up, her eyes fluttered open._

"_Daddy!" she cried out._

_He went to her side and pulled her into an embrace. "Rory… shhh… It's okay… It's okay… It's gonna be okay…"_

_She flung her arms around his waist and sobbed into his chest. It was a heart-wrenching sound, like she was coughing up bits of herself. _

"_They killed him, Wistar…" she said. "Right in front of me… I couldn't- I didn't-"_

"_I know, Ro," Wistar replied softly, stroking her head._

"_They've taken almost everyone away from me…" she told him through her tears as she trembled in his arms. "Expect for you."_

_He almost smiled, though he realized that his grin would be lost in the darkness of her bedroom. "They're not going to kill me."_

"_You don't know that. They killed Gable. They killed my father."_

"_You don't know they killed Uncle Avery, Aurora…" even when he said it he couldn't bring himself to believe it._

"_The mill has never had that kind of accident before, Wiss… They killed him, I know it," she told him. And he agreed. Lumber mills just don't just set themselves on fire. Not with Peacekeepers surrounding the place. All it took was one well-placed match and everything would have burned. Everything did burn._

"_Okay, Rory… I know…" He didn't know what else to say. What could he say? 'I'm sorry,' seemed contrite. 'I understand,' would have been a lie. Because Wistar didn't understand. How could he? Aurora survived the Hunger Games. The Quarter Quell, no less. And it wasn't because she was a skilled fighter, or a cunning strategist. It was because she had a knack for bringing out the best in people. She had given the Districts a reason to hope again. And for that grievous crime, the Capitol was trying to turn her life into a pit of perpetual despair. _

"_I don't want to lose you too," Aurora finally said, her voice sounded hollow, like she had sobbed the last parts of herself away. _

"_You're not going to lose me, Rory," he assured her._

"_How do you know?" she asked._

"_Because, I can't die," he replied._

_She almost cracked a smile. "Everyone dies, Wistar."_

_He nodded. "Yup. But for us, it won't be anytime soon."_

"_You can't know that for sure."_

"'_Course I can. I'm a Noland. And we have this annoying habit of always being right," he told her and this time she did allow herself to smile._

"_Don't forget we're arrogant and self-righteous too," she teased._

"_How could I forget?" Wistar chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "We're going to get through this, Aurora."_

"_You can't know that," she replied._

"_I do know that. So long as we have each other, we'll be unstoppable. And they won't take me from you. They can't. You're my family, Aurora. Nothing can divide us," Wistar said._

"_I hope you're right," Aurora told him. "Because it will get worse before it gets better."_

_Wistar didn't know what to say to that. Aurora was a Noland and as he had said, they had this annoying habit of always being right._

* * *

It was the day before the Reaping and everyone had their rituals. Some people prayed. Others played like today was their last day. Most tried not to think about it. However for someone like Wistar Noland, he didn't have the luxury of doing any of those things. But he had a ritual all the same.

Though summer was upon them, the weather in District Seven seemed not to care. The sky was grey and gloomy. The wind was cool and smelled like rain. Wistar couldn't see the sun even before he walked into the forest.

He had been walking for an hour. Wandering around aimlessly it seemed, until he reached a small clearing.

Wistar hesitated before he removed his boots and carefully stepped out. He treated this place like hallowed ground, as if it was a holy place. And perhaps it was. This was where the dead came to rest for as long as anyone could remember. So maybe it was sacred. And if that was the case, Wistar was paying his respects. Both for the fallen and for this small clearing in the woods.

He sat down in the center of it, looking around at the large, ancient trees with their red bark and their green leaves that didn't change with the seasons like they did in other places. Wistar produced a small bottle of water from his coat and poured the contents onto the ground.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around to visit you lately…" he said. "There's just a lot of things to deal with.

"Aurora got married. To Jace Colton. Ember and Jan got married too. Had the twins a few months later. They named one after you. Felix Colton; they call him Lucky. But because of that, Aurora and Jace keep getting hounded about when they're going to start a family. You should her face. She turns as white as a sheet."

His smile fell. "But it isn't real. Aurora and Jace are friends. But they aren't… it's not like that between them. It'll never be like that with them.

"Birch is getting married too. He told us right after Rory tied the knot. To Iris. You remember Iris, right? Sweet girl. They're having a baby. In less than a month from now, you'll be an uncle, Felix.

"Alder's training every day. He doesn't think anyone knows but we all do. He probably comes here every night. Knowing Alder, he'd want to be close to you. And he still can't forgive Rory and Hawthorne. He still blames them for your death and Rayne's. But I know it wasn't their fault. I've tried to tell him that you wouldn't want him to carry around all of this hatred. But it's Alder. If he doesn't hate something or someone he wouldn't know what to do with himself."

Tears welled in his eyes and he wiped them away. "I miss you, Felix. I feel lost without you. You would have known what to do here. You would have known how to pull Rory back from the edge. You would have known what to say to Hawthorne so he stops hating himself. And you would have known how to make Alder regain his humanity… I just- I wish you were here, Felix. We all do."

"You miss him?" Wistar recognized the voice immediately, even before he turned around to face him.

"Alder…" Wistar breathed, getting to his feet.

"You've got some nerve. Saying you miss him…" Alder spat. "The way you've been carrying on with that Colton girl… Felix's ashes weren't even cold yet."

"That's not fair, Alder," Wistar shot back. "What's going on between Max and me-"

"Save it, Wiss." Alder said with a raised hand. "I wonder how my brother would feel about you sending love letters to the girl whose brother killed him."

"It wasn't Max' fault," Wistar tried to explain but again Alder cut him off.

"No, it was Aurora and Hawthorne's. They told Felix and Rayne they could trust District Nine and Twelve. Ember and Jan shook their hands, gave them their word they would honor their alliance. Then that prick Jan gutted my little brother. And Ember stabbed Rayne in the chest."

"They were the final four. Only two could go home…"

Alder didn't want to hear any of it. Logic couldn't be involved in this discussion, if one could even call it that.

"That's not an excuse. Rory and Hawthorne… they should have known… They were supposed to protect them," Alder said.

"Oh, you mean like you were supposed to protect him?" As soon as Wistar said it he regretted it.

Alder's face broke and for a moment he faltered. Wistar had hit a nerve.

"Don't you dare…"

But Wistar couldn't stop now. "What? Tell you the truth? Remind you of how you failed him? You could have volunteered, Alder. You were 17. Still eligible to be reaped. And he was your kid brother. You could have stepped up and went in his place. But you didn't. You didn't. And now Felix is dead. And you're still here."

"Shut up, Wistar. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Actually Alder, I do. Because I could have done the same thing. I could have volunteered. I could have gone in his place, too. But I didn't. Because I was scared. I was terrified I'd never come home. It's my fault and yours. We're the reason Felix isn't here."

Adler launched himself forward, grabbed Wistar by his collar, and slammed him on the ground, pinning him there. He clenched his hand into a fist and cocked his arm back.

"Do it, Alder," Wistar said. "If that'll make you feel better, do it."

Alder hesitated.

"DO IT! COME ON ALDER! DO IT!" Wistar yelled. "It won't bring Felix back. But so long as you can hang on to your hatred what does it matter, right?"

Alder's fist came down on Wistar's nose, making his eyes water from the impact. From a moment Wistar's world was a watery haze of shiny colors. And just as he recovered, Alder's fist came down again. And again. And again. Wistar lost track as his face went numb.

"Adler! Get off of him!"

Words were exchanged. Wistar couldn't make them out. But both people sounded angry. There were footsteps stomping away and someone else was putting their hands on his shoulders.

"Wistar… Are you okay?" the someone asked.

He tried twice before his voice returned. "I'm okay, I just need a minute."

He realized a few things when he said it. One: his nose was bleeding. Two: his lip was swollen. And three: from the way his head throbbed, and his world swirled around him, he was most decidedly not okay.

He could hear the frown in the other person's voice. "You're not okay."

"I'm fine, Birch!" Wistar snapped at him and immediately regretted it. Not because he was harsh, through his sheepish expression would say that he didn't wish to be rude. But because after he spoke Wistar felt another rush of dizziness.

Birch sighed. "I'm taking you to your cousin's."

"No, you don't have-"

"I'm taking you to your cousin's, Wiss."

* * *

The walk to the Victors' Village was a long and silent one. The grey gloom still hung over their heads, but the Sun was trying to push through. Wistar didn't mind the overcast. It was usually warmer on these types of days then it was when the sky was clear. District Seven apparently had odd weather. Though Wistar never realized until he was allowed to go to the Capitol and speak with people outside his district.

The Capitol was also where he discovered how beautiful he was. Wistar had always known he was a touch on the attractive side. Girls… and certain boys stared at him at constantly over the years. He was tall, with gorgeous green hazel eyes, and light brown hair that when touched by the sun's rays would give him streaks of gold. The symmetry of his face was only enhanced by his brilliant smile. To him he had a very District Seven look. To the Capitol he was another Jan Colton in the making.

Wistar Noland wanted no part in Capitol life. Even if he would have been well suited for it. Since Felix's death, he just couldn't bring himself to even try and play their game.

Aurora, his esteemed cousin, had no such luxury. She couldn't just stop. She was a Victor now and a Mentor for going on three years. She couldn't take herself out of the game even if she wanted to. And they both knew she wanted to.

Aurora's house was one of twelve, though only five of the twelve were occupied. Four other mentors lived in these sprawling mansions. Nothing as extravagant as he had seen in the Capitol. But for District Seven, these were practically castles. Big, mostly empty castles where victors could house not only themselves and their families but it also had gigantic closets large enough to fit all of their skeletons.

The mansions didn't look like anything else in District Seven. The houses near the town center were all made of old lumber scraps. These homes in the Victors' Village were all made of pristine white marble. No two homes looked the same but they were all variations of a similar design.

"You don't have to walk me all the way to the door, Birch," Wistar unceremoniously broke the silence.

"I'm not leaving until I know you're safely in your cousin's care," Birch said. He had been doing that a lot lately; not calling Aurora by name. She was always referred to as Wistar's cousin. At least when he was around. Wistar didn't have to wonder why Birch did that because he already had a clue.

Birch was Adler's doppelganger. They were twins and like the Colton boys it was hard to tell them apart; almost as if they were two sides of the same person. Especially, if one didn't know them. And like the Colton boys, Alder and Birch had two very distinct personalities. But both boys were tall, with a curly mess of light brown hair, similar to Wistar's in color, on top of their heads. And they had the same green eyes. Birch looked like he could be Wistar's cousin. Though, he was sure that any relation was ancient and distant. 50th cousins, 100 times removed, or something like that.

Birch and Alder had the same brooding stare that reminded him of Felix. It was something that Wistar had come to expect from the Grayling males, and something that he grew to love a few years back.

The memory of his relationship with Felix was still an open wound. One that would never heal but with time the pain would become manageable, and with help from his loved ones, Wistar might even be able to have some semblance of normalcy.

Before they reached the porch, the front door of Aurora's house flung open and Rory came out dressed modestly in muted colors that did nothing in the way of complimenting her subtle beauty.

She was a tiny little thing; still a touch on the too thin side. Wistar figured she wasn't eating as much as she should. Nerves always did away with her appetite. And with the Reaping fast approaching, he knew Aurora probably hadn't eaten anything in a few days. Almost as if she needed to be just as starved and malnourished as her future tributes.

Her curly dark brown hair was tied back to keep her unruly mane out of her face and her dark green eyes studied both boys as they approached her house.

"Alder came by," Aurora said calmly. "I figured it was only a matter of time before someone delivered Wistar to me as a bloody mess."

It was only with that last part that Wistar realized she wasn't actually speaking to him but to Birch. And that was odd as neither of them really said anything to each other anymore. Not since Aurora got married to Jace and Birch got Iris pregnant. And even when they did exchange pleasantries the encounter was almost always as awkward as it was now.

"I'm sorry about my brother," Birch said.

"You don't need to apologize for Alder," Aurora replied. "He's still grieving for Felix. We all process things differently."

"Yea," Wistar broke in. "Tell that to my face."

He watched as Aurora turned to look at him. She made a clicking sound with her tongue and shook her head.

"That does look bad," she told Wistar. "Luckily for you, cousin, you know a healer."

"Yes, that is pretty lucky for me," Wistar said with a smile.

The smile dropped when he saw the longing in Aurora's eyes and how that look matched the one Birch was giving her. It brought new meaning to the term star-crossed lovers. And Wistar felt sorry for them. It was one thing burying a loved one. It was another thing watching that loved one marry another.

"Birch, can you help Wiss inside, please?" Aurora asked, her tone even and controlled. She had the poise that matched any Capitol politician. In the three years since her victory Aurora had garnered a reputation for being somewhat of a diplomat. She was the one that coined the phrase "the Natural Alliance" to describe the alliance of the quote-unquote lesser districts. Districts Seven, Nine, and Twelve came together and became the first alliance to have more than one go home. Aurora was all about building bridges, making not just friends but allies. And that terrified Wistar. Because he wanted her to fade away after her victory and she all but outright refused to do that.

"I'd be happy to help, Aurora…" It was the first time Wistar had ever heard Birch call his cousin by name in quite a while.

There was a part of Wistar that wanted to tell them both that he didn't need any blasted help, thank you very much. But he could see how much they had missed each other. And if Wistar was their excuse, fine. However, he'd milk this for all it was worth.

He put a hand on Birch's shoulder for support and the two made the very short climb up the stairs to Aurora's porch and then inside to her expansive dwelling.

Her house on the outside was all the Capitol's doing. But inside, she had made it into a home. The floors were redone. Wooden paneling lined the floors and walls and she had added a brick hearth in the den. The other thing that adorned her home was many different potted plants and flowers. But that wasn't her doing. That had her husband's signature written all over it.

Her husband. That was still so strange for Wistar to even think about. He always knew she'd marry young. Despite her denials to the contrary, Aurora was a hopeless romantic. Even now, when it seemed like all hope was lost, he could see that little twinkle in her eye; that spark that said she still believed. So of course she'd marry just as soon as she came of age. But he always figured it would have been Gable or Birch. And when Gable was executed and Birch was there to pick up the pieces it seemed to Wistar that Birch was going be joining the Noland Clan. However, that hadn't been the case. The Capitol wanted to spin a different story.

Jace Colton and Aurora brought together an alliance of misfits; those that would have been overlooked. But when the Gamemakers forced the alliance to break apart, it put Aurora and Jace directly at odds. Harsh words were exchanged. Aurora had basically accused Jace of being a Capitol Puppet. It was meant to push the Natural Alliance into a bloody skirmish. But the group split on somewhat amicable terms and had done their best to stay away from the other. However in the end destiny had brought them back together and four of their alliance had made it home. Two Victors from District Seven. One Victor from District Twelve. And one Victor from District Nine. And with Jace and Aurora being the chief engineers of this unexpected outcome it was only natural that these two found love… in a hopeless place.

Aurora had refused at first. Then the mill burned down and Wistar knew she would bend to the President's will. Too many people had died already due to her silent rebellion and Aurora wouldn't allow anymore meet their doom all because she couldn't enter a sham of a marriage.

"Birch, can you help him sit. please?" Aurora asked. "I'm going to get my bag. Unless that's too much trouble."

Birch tried to hide a smile but failed. "It's no trouble at all."

Rory grinned. "Thank you."

Wistar fought the urge to roll his eyes. These two were hopeless.

When Rory disappeared upstairs, Wistar looked at Birch for a moment. "You could go if this is too hard."

"What?"

Wiss gave him a pointed look. "Birch, come on…"

"Seriously, Wistar what?" Birch asked.

Wistar just sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"What doesn't matter?" another voice sounded from the staircase. Wistar turned slowly, though judging from the way Birch shifted uncomfortably, he already knew who it was.

Jace Colton was standing on the bottom step, using both his cane and the handrail for support. He wasn't as tall as Wistar or Birch or as stocky. But he had a hardness to him all the same. His black hair looked as if he had just woken up and he was staring back at the them with those intense Colton baby blues.

"Hello, Wiss," Jace greeted. "And you're Birch, correct? Felix's older brother."

Birch nodded. "Yes. It's good to meet you."

"You, too," Jace replied. Each young man took a step; Jace less steady on his feet than Birch. Birch closed the distance but Jace's hand was already outstretched. And they shook hands. The universal symbol for 'I come unarmed.'

"I saw the garden out front. I think that's your handy work. Aurora couldn't grow something to save her life," Birch quipped.

Jace smiled. "I've been trying to teach her what I know. But the progress has been slow."

"I heard that," Aurora called down to them.

Wistar would have laughed but the tension in the air was thick and all he could do was gape at them. Birch had his back to him so he didn't see, but Jace caught Wistar staring. There was a sadness that washed over his expression and his gaze flickered from Wiss and Birch before he spoke again.

"Let me make some tea," Jace said.

Birch shook his head. "No, I really-"

Jace put his hand up. "Please, I insist."

Wistar caught Jace's eyes, silently asking him if this was all okay. Because he couldn't fathom how it possibly could be. Jace shot him a smile that said everything and also nothing at all.

"No sudden movements until Rory takes a look at you, Wiss," Jace told him before he disappeared into the kitchen.

"Seriously, go," Wistar mouthed. Birch shook his head and in response Wistar rolled his eyes. Everyone in this house was hopeless. Himself, included. They were all hopeless.

"It's very quiet down here…" Aurora said as she descended the stairs holding a medium sized black bag. Although it could have been a small bag as everything tended to appear larger when Aurora was carrying them.

"Were you beginning to worry?" Wistar asked.

"If it was just you down here, perhaps," she replied. "But I knew you were in safe hands. With Jace and Birch with you."

Aurora looked around and before she could ask the obvious question, Wistar answered it.

"Jace is making us some tea," he replied, with a raised eyebrow, nodding over to Birch, who was still here for reasons that were nothing but obvious.

"Are you staying for tea?" Aurora asked Birch. Wistar frowned. His cousin was probably one of the most aware people he knew. He knew she had gotten his hint and the completely disregarded it.

Birch nodded. "Your- er- Jace, he was pretty adamant about it."

Aurora smiled. "District Nine hospitality. It's a custom of theirs to share food or drink with someone when they enter your home as a guest. Indulge him or he won't be able to face his mother."

Birch chuckled. "Your mother-in-law sounds a bit like my own mother."

"Mrs. Colton… ah… Katie, she's scarier than your mother."

"Then I'd feel bad if he had to face someone more terrifying than my mother."

Aurora put her hand on his upper arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you."

They stood there a touch too long. Their eyes locked. Wistar wondered if they even realized he was still in the room with them. It was tragic. To those that said that it was better to have loved and lost should try it sometime because this was worse than what had happened with him and Felix. Felix was dead. Gone. But not forgotten and if he was still alive… Well, Wistar would be living in Felix's mansion instead of spending all of his time at Aurora's. However, what was going on between her and Birch was far worse.

The whistling of the tea kettle made Wistar jump and Aurora stepped away from Birch. Their guilty expressions would have confused anyone that didn't know them. Even Jace noticed as he walked into the den, a tray carefully balanced in one hand.

Aurora rushed over to him, setting her medical bag down on the couch where Wistar was. She took the tray from Jace and husband and wife exchanged pleasantries. Wiss just looked on, quietly.

"About Alder," Birch began, taking a tea cup from Jace, nodding his thanks.

Aurora shook her head. "As I've already said, Birch, Alder is grieving."

"We're all grieving, Rory," he told her. "Alder doesn't have to be an ass. It's unfair to everyone. He needs to understand there are healthier outlets."

"He will," Jace said, much to Wistar's shock.

"How can you be sure?" Birch asked.

"Because I have a brother that's a bit like him," Jace replied, taking a sip from his teacup. He must have been talking about Jan. From what Max had told him about the Coltons, Wistar doubted he was talking about Sammy, the grounded one.

"Adler will come around," Rory said, sitting down beside Wistar.

Wistar scoffed. "Again, tell that to my face. Ow!"

Aurora had swatted a cut on his brow and he glared at her. "Wistar, you provoked him. It doesn't excuse his behavior or how he carried on here..."

Birch cut in. "What did he do?"

The room fell quiet and Aurora, perhaps to buy her some time, began to treat the wounds on Wistar's face. She was half through cleaning one of the out before anyone said anything.

"It's best not to say," Jace spoke, looking at Rory. Wistar could see the anguish in her face. Her eyes welled and her body shook as she tried to keep herself from falling over the edge. Jace leaned over and offered her tea and as Aurora's hand went for the teacup, Jace took hold of it. He offered her a comforting smile and she returned it, blinking away the tears.

Birch frowned. But he didn't press the issue. Which of course Wistar was dying to know now. He told himself that was just awful and tried not to let his curiosity get the better of him. Whatever Alder had done obviously had gotten to Rory.

Aurora took a sip from her tea and put it down before she returned to seeing to Wistar's wounds. Once the cuts were cleaned out, she retrieved a small container for her bag. It bore the Capitol stamp on the lid and he knew that this was the pricy stuff. Wistar was a close relative of a Victor and with the Reaping tomorrow he'd need to look his best because the cameras were usually on him.

"Iris came by a few days ago," Aurora told Birch, looking to change the subject.

"Iris came to see you?" Birch asked.

Aurora nodded. "She was looking for a familiar face when she delivers. And to get a second opinion. I don't know why. Dr. Cashmere is an amazing healer. He's teaching me."

"Did you tell her that you'd be there?"

Wistar tried to get a glimpse of Birch face when he posed that question. Aurora wouldn't let him turn his head. But from the sound of his voice, Birch was curious what Rory's answer was.

"I confirmed what Dr. Cashmere said," she confessed. "The baby is healthy. She's healthy… But I had to regretfully decline to be there when Iris gives birth."

"We'll most likely still be in the Capitol," Jace interjected. "The Games are becoming longer and longer. If our tributes place high, they always want us to stay longer. We probably wouldn't make it back in time for the birth. But congratulations all the same."

The best lies always had a touch of truth to them. Wistar was a foot away from Aurora's face, he knew that there was more to this story.

"Yes, Birch. I'm happy for you," Aurora added, softly. "You'll be a great father."

"Thank you, Rory," Birch said. "You too, Jace. Thanks."

"Of course," Jace replied with a nod.

Birch stood. "I should probably get going. I told Iris I was going out for a walk in the woods. She's probably worried sick about me."

"Of course," Jace said, slowly getting to his feet. "Let me walk you out."

"Great."

A few moments later Aurora's husband and the love of her life walked out of the den. But not before Aurora and Birch hugged.

"It was so good to see you, Birch."

"Yea. You too, Rory. Take care."

"Of course."

Wistar stayed quiet until he heard the door close and Jace didn't return probably tending to the garden outside.

"What the hell was that?" Wistar finally asked.

Aurora looked up from clearing the coffee table. "What was what?"

"Aurora, I can deal with Birch playing dumb, but not you," Wistar said. "You helped my older brothers with their school work."

Aurora frowned picking up the tray, and walked into the kitchen without answering him. Wistar followed.

"Rory, I just want to understand," Wistar called after her.

Still, she didn't say anything. Aurora just continued to clean her kitchen. She did this when she wanted collect her thoughts. Sometimes focusing on the mundane helped her take her mind off of things. But the kitchen was immaculate. And she couldn't keep running from this.

"Dammit Rory, just talk to me," Wistar pleaded.

"Wistar, please. I don't want to talk about this," Aurora told him.

"Rory-"

Finally, she snapped. "What Wistar? What? You want to understand? You can't possibly understand. You have no idea what this is like; how much pressure I'm under."

"What did Alder say?" he had to know.

Aurora sighed, turning her back to him and rested her hands on the sink looking out of a window. Wistar followed her gaze and saw Jace outside tending to a small flower bed. As if he could feel her eyes on him, Jace lifted his head and smiled. Aurora grinned back. Wistar could almost swear they were having some silent conversation. Or perhaps he could just read Rory better than Wistar could because he watched Jace's smile turned into a frown. He went to stand but Aurora waved him off and turned to face Wistar.

"What did Alder say to you, Ro?" he asked, softly. He watched his cousin begin to tremble. He regretted pushing this but he knew Aurora. She wore her emotions on her sleeve but she still bottled things up inside.

"It's not important," she replied.

"It is to me," he told her.

"Alder blames me for everything," Rory said. "From Felix's death, to Birch's marriage to Iris, to the mill fire. He had friends there that day."

"None of those things are your fault."

"Every single one of those things is my fault, Wistar," Rory countered. "I could have done something different with Felix and Rayne. Been smarter, more clever. If I never told Birch how I felt he would have just went on with his life. And if I would have just married Jace when I was told… my father would been alive to give me away. Everything that has gone wrong since I came back home has been my fault. Everything.

"It wasn't Alder's words that affected me. It was that I agreed with him." She paused, tears rolling down her cheeks. "None of this would have happened if Rowan hadn't jumped in front of that spear."

Wistar frowned. "You would have been dead."

"Everyone I loved would be alive."

"And I would have lost first you and then Felix. You're the only reason I'm still breathing Rory. You're the reason I found Max," Wistar said. "Without you and Felix I wouldn't have lasted long."

"It doesn't change the fact that I ruin everything I touch," she told him, wiping away her tears.

* * *

"Your face looks better."

Wistar smiled. "My face always looks good, Skye."

The girl sitting next to him rolled her eyes, playfully nudging him. "Keep telling yourself that, Wiss."

Wistar's grin grew wider. "I don't have to when so many people do it for me."

Skye sighed, shaking her head. Wistar just chuckled. Skye had an usual look to her; exotic, some would say. In the darkness it was hard to see those rich colored eyes of hers; so dark blue they almost looked purple. That was in complete juxtaposition to her skin tone which was a deep caramel color. Her hair was the darkest chocolate brown that he had seen. She had wiry frame that reminded him of Max, built for climbing and running through the trees, rather than chopping them down. She looked more like the people he had seen in District Eleven, than a citizen of District Seven.

Yet she had been born and bred here, same as Wistar and the other two people that sat with him on Rory's roof.

"Are you sure your cousin is okay with this?" Briar asked, her bright green eyes wide with apprehension.

Briar had a very District Seven look. Pale but sunkissed skin tone, light brown hair that had lighten in the sun, and those forest green eyes. She was brawny, despite her slender frame. Since Briar had taken the job at the mill she had gotten more muscular. She had a healthy glow to her now as well. Though she still looked like she missed a meal or two.

"None of us want to get on Rory's bad side," Leif added, holding Briar close to him. Leif looked a bit like his uncle, who had worked closely with his uncle before the fire at the mill claimed them both. Leif was tall, though not as tall as Birch and Alder and athletic, with icy blue eyes and dark brown hair that was more wavy than curly.

Skye scoffed. "Speak for yourself."

Skye, like Alder hadn't gotten over what happened during the 26th Hunger Games. Alder had lost his brother and Skye had lost one of her best friends. Each person couldn't move on. But Skye had found balance. Was she hurt? Of course. But she couldn't bring herself to hate Aurora because she'd never be able to hate Aurora's former district partner.

"Skye…" Briar chided her.

"I'm sorry, it's just-"

Leif finished her sentence. "Tomorrow is your last Reaping. You're nervous."

"I'm terrified, Leif," Skye replied.

"You'll be fine," Wistar said.

"Wistar, I've taken out tesserae for my whole family every year since I was twelve. My name is in there more times than any of yours ever was."

Skye had a point. Despite Hawthorne's offers to keep her family from starving Skye had done what she could to keep her family feed without his help.

"It's Aspen's last reaping tomorrow too," Briar pointed out.

"If her name is chosen I'll volunteer," Skye said quickly.

Everyone else's eyes widened in shock.

"You can't be serious," Wistar said.

"No, Skye. That's not your responsibility," Briar added.

"Of course it is. She's your little sister. That makes her my little sister," Skye countered.

"And what if you don't come back?" Leif asked her. "Briar will never be able to forgive herself."

Wistar's gaze flickered over to Skye. She wasn't backing down. He could see a fierce determination flare in her eyes. "And if Aspen doesn't come home when I could have taken her place… I'd never be able to look Briar in the eye again."

"If everyone one would just please stop speaking about me as if I'm not right here," Briar told them.

Leif and Skye put their heads down. "Sorry," they both said.

"Can we stop talking about the Reaping?" Wistar finally asked. "We all remember the rules. No talks of Reapings or anything else involving the Hunger Games."

The three people sitting with him shot him knowing looks.

"How are things going with you and Max Colton?" Briar asked.

They all laughed when Wistar's face reddened. "There's nothing to report."

Skye chuckled. "Spill, Noland. Because we know something is up."

Wistar sighed. What could he say about Maxine Colton that would do her justice? How could he articulate how he felt about her or how she made him feel? Wistar didn't know where to begin.

"With all of this distance between us it's hard," Wistar admitted. "But… I don't… I haven't felt this way about anyone since…"

He didn't say his name. He felt guilty even talking about Max. But he knew Felix well and he knew that Felix would have wanted him to find some peace. And that's how Max made him feel; at peace, calm, perfectly at ease.

Briar put a hand on Wistar's shoulder. "It's okay. He'd want you to be happy."

"Does she make you happy?" Skye asked.

Wistar thought about it for a second and then nodded. "Yea. She does."

"Then Felix would be happy for you," Leif added.

Wistar smiled, looking up at the night sky and hoped they were right.


	6. Pre-Reaping - District 9

**_Maxine Colton: _**_Age 17, District Nine_

_"This is not the time to be keeping your hiding places from us, Janus Lee. " Pa was pretty angry, but Max could see it. That Jan had looked everywhere for Jace, and couldn't find him and that just wasn't like him._

_Or at least, it wasn't like how he used to be. Even if he wanted to be alone, she or Jan always knew where to find him. Now, they'd exhausted every hiding spot and secluded place they could think of-that Jace could still get to. If it weren't for the fact that his right leg was lamed in The Quarter Quell-two months ago-Max would have been doing a lot more climbing._

_"Pa, I swear. I have no idea." Jan had both hands up, and he looked nearly as desperate as their parents did. Jace hadn't come by for lunch, and when Ma sent Sammy to his house to find him, he wasn't there either._

_He wasn't at Micha's resting place or Abigail's. He wasn't at the watering hole or any other place they could think he'd go. It was as if he'd fallen off the face of the planet, and Jan was pacing as much as their father was._

_Because the Games had done something to her brother. Had killed something in him. Had ripped two things he enjoyed most from his life. He could never run again-not the way he used to-and when he'd tried to go into the fields to thresh a few days after he returned from The Capitol, he'd nearly had a panic attack when he'd wrapped his hand around that hand-scythe._

_It had been 'his' weapon, in the Games._

"_Do you think he went somewhere?" Sammy had always been smarter and more controlled than the rest of them. He'd stand and watch everyone freak out, and come up with a logical explanation for something based around what he was seeing. Jace wasn't anywhere in District 9 that they could find?_

_Maybe he wasn't in District 9._

_Which was why everyone was looking at him like he was an insane genius. Without a word, Jan and her father left the house and headed in the same direction._

"_Where are they going?" Ally. Who _wasn't _an insane genius._

"_The Mayor's office."_

_They'd learned he'd gotten a pass and had gone to District 4. The Mayor of District 4 had sent someone to find him and it hadn't taken long. He'd been pretty close to the train-station, actually, sitting on the beach and watching the ocean. The Edlyns had invited him to dinner and then sent him home to District 9 the next day._

_It happened sometimes, they said. Their 'Warriors' needed to be someplace else, so they would just leave. Sometimes they just needed time. Other times, they needed...something from the place they'd gone that their own home couldn't give them. Don't be too hard on him, they'd asked. Sometimes The One draws us to places unknown. He is healing himself as best he can. The One led him here for a reason, and we will take care of him and send him back to you. It is known._

_Jace told them he'd just wanted to see the sea. That he wanted to be close to Lallek for a little while, and that was the only place he'd been able to do it. He still would go there from time to time. He'd become a known face in District 4, and because he honored Lallek so much District 4 honored him._

* * *

Her own ritual on Reaping Day tended toward just...having a normal day. Go out to the fields and work, and then spend time with her two little nephews because they were staying with Ma and Pa while Jan and Ember were in The Capitol. Ember refused to leave them with her mother, and Jan and her both would take them to the Capitol over their own dead bodies.

"When's Jace coming?"

"He'll be here early tomorrow morning. He's taking the midnight train from District 7." Her mother, Katie, was holding JJ in one arm and stirring dinner with the other. Anyone looking at Katie Colton would easily see where her children inherited their beauty. Not to say that their father was unattractive, but Katie had six children and four grandchildren as of now, and she still turned the heads of mean half her age with no effort at all.

It wasn't as if Max's brother could sleep at all anyway, and he would spend the entire time scribbling away in his journal. He told her once that it helped him put his thoughts in order. He'd wanted to try to quietly fade away into nothingness after his Game. Wanted to disappear the way some Victors were able to do but that hadn't been possible. Apparently the 'friendship' between he and Lallek had been legendary in the Capitol, and it was often used as an 'example of how the Games brought the best out in so many.'

No one else in the family seemed to see it, but there hadn't been a 'friendship' between Jace and Lallek. It had been two souls meeting and recognizing each other. Each recognizing the other as it's mate. Lallek had died so that Jace could live.

And Jace, at times, seemed as if he were merely waiting for when they could be together again.

Max was making faces down at Lucky, who was only really interested in grabbing her hair. Her own black curls she kept tamed back in a long plait most of the time, though right now it was curling down her shoulders and around her face. She'd gotten out of the bath before she'd even come near her little nephews. Not that it mattered to Jan and Ember who were two of the most rough and tumble people she'd ever known, but she wanted to make sure she wasn't getting them all grubby.

"Jan?"

"Checking his garden at his house. And Jace's too." Those two mini-mansions that they had, right next to each other in the Victor's Village. Max rolled her eyes and then crossed them down at Lucky. He giggled. Or she imagined he giggled. He probably mostly gurgled.

"Because apparently I don't do that." Which she did. Twice a day, even.

"I just think he misses the fresh air when he's in District 12, Max. It's nothing personal. And...the time alone."

Max shrugged, laying Lucky in his bassinet (And prying her hair painstakingly out of his little hands). "I'll go find him and tell him dinner's almost ready. I'm guessing Pa's going to stay in town so he can walk Jace home?"

Her mother looked at her for a long moment. Jace walked with the aid of a cane now, as his right leg had been very nearly destroyed in The Games. He'd been lucky he hadn't lost it completely. Still, it was enough that he couldn't run again, and Max sometimes saw how much that pained him.

As for Jan, he had no idea that her parents knew what the Capitol had him doing. What they'd threatened him with. Max only knew because she was sneaky enough, and had no problem going through her brother's things. She was the baby sister. It was her job to be nosy and to save them from themselves sometimes. It's how she knew Jace wore Lallek's District Token to this day. And it's how she knew that Jan was basically a whore for the Capitol.

They'd said nothing to Jan about it, but they knew. They had the same attitude about it that she did, in the end. _A man does what he must for those he loves._

But eventually they would push too far.

And eventually Jan would get himself killed pushing back.

* * *

"Two more years."

"One. This one and next year. We get through that, and we're golden."

Max smiled a bit at the boy she was sitting on Jace's roof with, watching the 'preparations' for the Reaping tomorrow from a height that most in District 9 had never actually bothered with. Their lives were firmly on the ground and most of them liked it that way. She, on the other hand, had been raised alongside the infamous Colton Twins, who tended to get themselves stuck in the tops of trees at young ages.

Max liked her heights. No one could climb as fast or as efficiently as one Maxine Colton, and it was probably why no one was shocked that she'd fallen for a lumberjack from District 7.

Tobias could almost keep up. The two of them had been friends for years. Tobias was a second or third cousin of some sort. He'd lost his sister in Quarter Quell. The same year Jace had come home. He'd once confided to Max that if Jace was what all the Victors were like when they returned from The Capitol, he was glad his sister hadn't come home. She was 'at rest', he said. 0That was something Jace wouldn't get to have for a very, very long time.

Tobias didn't know the half of it, and Max wasn't going to tell him.

"Jace isn't back yet." It wasn't a question. Jace's house had that 'empty' feel to it when they'd walked through it to the highest window so they could climb out. There weren't many footholds in the marble walls-the only houses of their kind in the District were in the Victor's Village-but Tobias and Max managed.

"He's taken to staying with his wife right up until the last minute before the Reapings. He doesn't sleep well in The Capitol." Max watched as one of the bonfires for the Night Festival was lit not too far away. It was a tradition in District 9 to throw a small festival for those who could be Reaped in the morning. Tomorrow evening, there'd be a more somber event as well, under the lights and the screen the Capitol provided so that they could watch over and over the procession of Tributes in The Capitol. At least, until the next event.

Jan hadn't gone to the Night Festival since he returned from the Capitol two years ago. He hadn't gone last year, and he'd refused to go this year. Apparently he felt like everyone was terrified of him, and Max didn't have the heart to tell him he was right. Where Jace had been a great hero, Jan had-in the eyes of many-shown his true colors. He was manipulative, played the camera, and in the end had won The Hunger Games because he'd managed to get people to kill each other rather than kill _him_.

"Who the hell would? I heard it's like…."

"...An ocean of light? Yes. It is. And the people are about as deep as puddles. For the most part." Max knew they all weren't like that. That there were a few who were genuinely good people and as her Pa said: People are a product of their surroundings. They couldn't help it. "I'm going to be going by myself this year. Maybe I can convince someone to let you come with me. A young lady shouldn't go on a long trip unescorted, after all."

"Like you're gonna be 'unescorted' that whole time."

Which caused Max to blush more than a little. Thank The One for a dark skintone, though Tobias grinned. Because he knew her probably as well as her brothers did. Ally...not so much, if only because they were so different than each other, but Tobias knew all about Wistar and the notes they sent to each other.

"What? I meant your brothers. Who the hell did you think I was talking about?" He blinked innocently, but Max punched him in the arm anyway. He knew exactly who he was talking about. The jerk.

"Shut up, Toby."

It got quiet for a bit after that, and they could hear the music starting down in the field. It was far away and only came with the breeze, and they could see little groupings of teenagers moving toward it. Sam would probably be there already with his friends. He'd been spending a good deal of time with the Mayor's little brother had an odd wisdom to him. An odd, rebellious, hell-fire wisdom that he kept tempered and carefully hidden.

Give him a reason, and Max knew he was explosive. And convincing in a way Jan could never fathom. Jan was all flash. Sam? Sam was all _reason._

And reason could be scary as sin.

"We should go down to the festival." Max said it quietly, though she didn't move. Tobias nodded-or at least she thought he did. It was dark, and she couldn't really see him out of the corner of her eye as well. He was sitting back a bit…

"Right. Tobias slid down to the next level. His grin was bright in the darkness and he offered her a hand. Max rolled her eyes, but took the hand anyway. As if she needed it to get down. "The Colton kids have to make an appearance."

"Ugh...don't remind me."


	7. Pre-Reaping - District 12

**Serafine Ardere:** Age 18, District Twelve  
_"Make no mistake, the world will end in fire."_

_Despite every bad thing he had said and done, her brother didn't deserve this._

_He had loved her, truly loved her. Perhaps not in the way that Janus Colton loved her, but he loved her all the same. Emotional detachment was Aidan's forte, yet he had given Ember Clay his heart and allowed her to crush it with her bare hands._

_The nation had watched as the relationship between Janus and Ember became extraordinary, their explosive and mesmerising personalities combining into one powerful force that could not be stopped. There was no competition._

_But Aidan had been forgotten entirely._

"_Did you expect her to come back the same person you had fallen in love with?" They were sitting behind their shoddy little house, smoking cigars they had traded in the Hob for crops that their eldest sister had harvested. The soil in District Twelve was practically infertile, yet Nuria Ardere was known to many as a miracle worker, and her crops could be traded and sold for small luxuries. Unfortunately, her harvests were irregular and were not frequent enough to sustain the large Ardere family of six throughout the year._

"_No." Aidan Ardere was not usually one to hold his tongue. He would talk for hours, proving himself to be the most insightful young man in the entire District. Yet when it came to Ember Clay, even those closest to him had difficulty loosening his lips._

"_You have to let her go." Sera told him with a sigh, resting her head against the back wall of the Ardere house. She could see her brother shift uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye._

"_She already let me go the day before she volunteered." His voice was raspy, and Sera almost expected it to crack. When she turned her head, she saw tears in her brother's eyes._

"_But you didn't let her go." She said, taking a puff from her cigar and looking away. Sera refused to watch her brother cry, especially when she knew there was nothing she could do to help or reassure him. Sera was not an empathic girl._

"_No." He told her again. _

"_She'll be coming back tomorrow. And when she does, you're going to be strong. You're going to make her believe that you've moved on, and that you're happy for her." Sera was not asking this of her brother, she was ordering it._

"_I can't do that." Aidan turned to look at his younger sister, who was staring straight back at him with a hard look in her eyes._

"_You can and you will."_

* * *

Sera was woken up on the day before the Reaping by the sound of her sister-in-law screaming at her brother. She had never heard a person shriek so much as Candace MacKay, and the high-pitched tone of the girl's voice was enough for Sera to despise her.

"You have responsibilities, Aidan!" When Sera walked down to the large room which was used as a kitchen, dining and family room, she was welcomed by Candace's loud screams directed towards her brother. She could see Nuria making breakfast in the kitchen, her three year old son clinging to her leg and insisting he was terrified that 'the mean lady' was going to kill his Uncle Aidan. Sera smirked and looked at the woman in question.

Candace could have been beautiful had she not been so painfully annoying to listen to. Perhaps it was the unusual colour of her hair - blonde was uncommon in the Seam - or maybe it was the fact that she had the most enthralling green eyes that anyone in the District had even seen. Even Sera couldn't deny her that complement. Despite carrying a child, she still had a near-flawless figure. Sera couldn't stand it.

"I don't want to spend my days cooped up in this house all the time." Aidan wasn't shouting, in fact he looked as though he was bored. Anyone could see that Candace didn't bring him any happiness; there was a dimness to his eyes that Sera could barely stand to see and the way he spoke to her was not the way a devoted husband should speak to his wife.

"I'm going to have your baby in four months and all you ever want to do is work, smoke and drink." Candace was still shouting, and hadn't even noticed Sera standing at the foot of the staircase with her arms folded and an amused look on her face.

"You love to remind everybody that you're carrying my brother's kid, don't you MacKay?" When Sera spoke, the blonde spun around as if she had been taken by surprise. Sera rolled her eyes and shook her head. The girl was so self-absorbed that she didn't even care to take in her surroundings.

"My name is Ardere now. I married your brother." Another thing the girl seemed to enjoy reminding everyone.

"My brother married you, dear. And, if you ask me, that was just because you're the first girl who threw herself at him after Ember decided that he wasn't good enough for her." Sera countered, and she watched as Candace glanced at Aidan before looking back at Sera.

"I wish you'd stop saying that. He married me because he loves me." Candace said, clearly uncertain as to whether there was any truth behind that sentence. Sera scoffed and stepped down from the last step and walked past the couple towards her sister in the kitchen.

"How long have they been going at it this time?" Sera asked, sitting herself up on the counter beside the bread that Nuria had just finished carving. She helped herself to a piece before passing one down to her nephew.

"I'd say about half an hour." Nuria responded, taking an egg out of the pan and putting it on a plate, "Honestly, I just stop listening after the first few insults. They're both as bad as each other."

"No, she's just a bitch." Sera responded, loud enough for Candace to hear. Nuria gave her sister a look before glancing down at her son, who was grinning up at Sera. Both girls could see the words forming on his lips before he said them.

"Candace is a bitch!" He exclaimed happily, clapping his hands. Nuria looked like she wanted to slap Sera, who was laughing very loudly.

"No, Kai! You don't say those horrible words." Nuria scolded her young son, who was still giggling along with his aunt.

"Well it's the truth." Sera defended herself, taking a bite out of her piece of bread and winking down at her nephew.

"You apologise to Candace right now." Nuria told Kai, who folded his arms and shook his head.

"Nope."

"Kai…" Nuria had adopted that motherly tone that told every child that they were stepping into dangerous territory. Kai looked between his mother and Sera before shaking his head, his arms still crossed over his chest. "That's fine, you won't have any breakfast in that case." Nuria said, turning away and cracking another egg in the pan.

"Don't want any." Kai insisted, but the smile had left his face and he was glancing over at Candace, who was probably too busy shouting at Aidan to notice what anyone had said about her.

"She didn't even hear." Sera told Nuria, "Just tell him not to say it again and it's fine."

"You sound like mom, stop telling me how to raise my kid." Nuria said irritably.

"Yeah, well, someone has to do it don't they." A silence followed that, and little Kai looked like he was going to start crying. Talking about their late mother was something the Arderes often avoided. It always visibly upset Kai, but it really upset them all.

"Go lay the table, Sera." Nuria said, not looking away from the eggs she was frying. Sera pushed herself off the counter and took a hold of the mismatched knives and forks that Nuria had left lying on the dining table. She laid them out very loudly, banging them on the table with noisy clattering noises.

"Nuria, I'm not staying for breakfast." Aidan called over to his sister, who shrugged.

"Where are you going?" Candace demanded, and Sera made a loud noise to express her distaste at the girl's attitude.

"I'm meeting Ash before work." He told her, already on his way out.

"Well I'm coming with you."

"Oh, so I've made food for everyone but half of us are heading out?" Nuria asked irritably.

"Candace, just stay here." Aidan said with a sigh. His wife shook her head, blonde curls bouncing as she did so.

"No, I want to see what you get up to when you're not around." She already had her coat on and was ready to walk out the door. Aidan sighed and shook his head, but didn't argue with her anymore. He opened the front door and walked out.

"Hey," Sera called after her sister-in-law, who turned around and looked at her expectantly, "Do us all a favor? Don't come back." The door slammed and Sera grinned.

Nuria sighed loudly and Kai walked over to Sera, poking her leg to get her attention. Sera crouched down and he moved closer to whisper in her ear.

"Candace is a bitch."

* * *

"I hope it's my name they pull out'a that jar."

The walk to the Victors' Village in District 12 from the Seam was a long one. It had been built purposely far away from the poorest area of the District, most likely so that it couldn't be contaminated by the poverty. It was also the only place the coal dust didn't coat entirely, of course. The small estate had to look presentable, especially for when the cameras were around. The One forbid the fragile citizens of the Capitol see the ghastly state of the poorest District in Panem.

"Don't say that. You don't mean it." Kindle Flint was the person Sera felt closest to of anyone else, even her family. She could tell the other girl things that she couldn't say to the other adolescents she called her friends. Sera insisted that she was her best friend, that they had a special bond just like all close friends did. But in her heart, Sera knew that her feelings towards Kindle were far more powerful than mere friendship.

"Sure I do," Sera responded, brushing a bread crumb off the sleeve of her jacket. That bread had cost the Arderes a large portion of Nuria's harvest. It was probably the last loaf they would see for months, "Nuria's too busy with Kai and keeping everyone fed to worry about much else, I barely even see Aidan and when I do Porcelain is around nagging him about something, and then there's Eshne who's barely spoken a word since Mom died." Sera shrugged, "Maybe if I got reaped, they'd come together as a family again."

When Sera turned to look at Kindle, she saw her big grey eyes looking straight at her. The two girls didn't look too different, there were distinct similarities due to the fact that they were both from the Seam. Sera's black hair was darker than Kindle's, which was more a dark brown colour, and she was slightly taller. The Ardere family had that in common, they were all rather tall, especially Aidan. He towered over almost everyone, and yet he allowed himself to be made so small by the people he surrounded himself with.

"Sera, you can be really selfish sometimes." Kindle told the other girl. Her tone wasn't disdainful, it sounded as though she had expected little more from her friend, but nonetheless Sera was taken aback by what her friend had accused her off.

"Selfish? Didn't you hear me? I said I wanted them to come together as a family." One of Sera's biggest flaws was her quick temper. Already, she could feel a frown merging on her eyebrows.

"I heard what you said, but it's what you mean that makes you selfish."

"I mean what I said." Sera insisted angrily.

"No you don't." Kindle stopped walking and turned to face Sera head on. There was a brief silence before the girl continued, "You're just upset that they're not paying attention to you. Because that's what you want, isn't it? You want all eyes on you, all the time. And you say things like 'I hope I get reaped' to try and get me to give you the attention you want… And it's working!" Her ponytail swung from side to side as Kindle shook her head.

"I don't want attention." Sera protested, but she had visibly wilted. It upset her that this was what Kindle thought of her.

"You do, you just don't even notice it." Kindle could see that she'd upset her friend, and she hooked one arm around hers, "But that's Serafine Ardere. Just… Don't say stuff like that about the Reaping. You and I both know it's not something we would wish on our worst enemies."

"Not even Candace?"

"Okay, maybe Candace." Both girls laughed.

"Shame she's not been eligible for two years."

* * *

Victors' Village had exploded in color. There was a flock of them, the people from the Capitol. Their vibrant, iridescent wigs and attire were the first thing anybody saw of them. And then came their voices, the thick Capitol accent and the high pitched tones. They would have been even more out of place had they been in the center of the District, yet even in the most Capitol-esque sector they were so obviously from a completely different soceity.

There were cameras set up in the street, men and women typing furiously on portable computers that had been rigged up to the cameras and the lights that had been placed so as to perfectly capture the beautiful surroundings.

The village was as much a façade as the Games.

"Who are you?" Sera and Kindle had barely even had time to take all of this in before a Peacekeeper had taken a firm hold of each of them by the shoulders. A glance behind him allowed Sera to see that there were four more on their way to assist him should the girls be any trouble.

"Ember Cl- Colton's family." Kindle said without missing a beat. The Peacekeeper frowned down at her. These Peacekeepers were from the Capitol, they were much more efficient and heavy handed than those in the District.

"Mrs. Colton does not have any family members besides those in District Nine." One of the Peacekeepers behind the first said.

"Are you sure about that?" Sera challenged, "Why don't we go ask her that?"

The first Peacekeeper released the girls' shoulders, but didn't let them pass as he turned to look at the others behind him. They spoke quietly for a moment before he turned to them.

"We'll escort you to Mrs. Colton's home and inquire there. You both understand the consequences if you have lied."

"Sure." Kindle responded, and Sera nodded. Neither of them seemed afraid, even though they really should have been.

The Peacekeepers led them through the camera crews and Stylists towards the familiar house. It was the only one either of them had ever visited, and it was just as grand as all of the others. Of course, Ember hadn't made too much of an effort to turn her home into the spectacular living quarters fit for a Victor, so there were people arranging flowers outside and decorators at work. A smirk spread across Sera's lips.

"We have brought family members of Mrs. Colton's." One of the Peacekeepers announced as they led the two girls into the living room of the house. Sat on one of the plush couches was [Escort], the Capitol escort for District 12. She looked up from her cup of tea and Capitol Couture magazine to frown.

"Em-... Mrs. Colton doesn't have any family members." She said, trying to look past him at the two girls that the Peacekeepers were guarding from her sight.

"I told you." One of them said, his hand crashing down on Sera's shoulder. She winced and resisted the urge to turn and punch him in the face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another man take a firm grasp of Kindle's arm. The expression on her face said that he was being no more gentle.

"Our sincerest apologies." The Peacekeeper said to [Escort], who was still trying to look past him as they pulled the girls out into the hallway, "We shall escort them from the house immediately."

"Let my sisters go."

Everybody's head turned at the sound of her voice. There, at the top of the staircase, stood Ember Colton. Her brown hair had been styled into a regal bun, and her hard, piercing grey eyes had been outlined in coal black eyeliner. There was a small, curling decoration in that same black at the side of each eye. Apart from this, her face was relatively untouched. It made her look beautiful in a ferocious and explosive way.

Her dress was tight fitting and black, with orange licking up from the bottom like glorious flames. No one could tell that just two months ago, she had given birth to twin boys. She looked flawless, more so than any of the Capitol citizens assembled outside.

"Mrs. Colton, these two girls claimed to be family members-"

"They are my family as much as the Coltons are." Ember cut the Peacekeeper off, and even Sera couldn't help but feel proud of her for having so much courage. He blinked up at her, and the other law enforcers were too busy staring at her in awe to notice that their colleague had just been outright disrespected, "Let them go."

Sera and Kindle were released and they moved quickly away from the Peacekeepers so that they couldn't be grabbed again.

"I would like to be left alone with my sisters, please." She told the group of white clad officers, who nodded respectfully and promptly exited the house. There was a brief silence before [Escort] came rushing out of the living room and gasped as she saw Ember standing at the top of the stairs.

"Oh my dear! You look absolutely _wonderful_!" Her gloved hands covered her mouth and the blue haired woman looked as though she was going to burst out in tears.

"Thanks." Ember said half heartedly, turning her attention to Sera and Kindle, "Are you two okay? Did they hurt you?"

"No." Kindle responded immediately, "Wow, Em… You look…"

Ember raised a perfectly manicured hand, "It's for the cameras."

"Oh yes! You have to make an appearance when your darling husband arrives. I hope his Stylist has something as glorious to match this outfit." [Escort] was gushing as usual, and rushed back into the living room.

"I feel like an idiot." Ember said with a sigh as she made herself down the stairs.

"You look like one of them." Sera said with a grimace.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

The girls looked at each other for a moment, before Sera pulled the other girl into a hug. They stood, holding onto each other for a long while, before Sera released her.

"Is this what they've got you wearing for tomorrow?" Kindle asked, looking her up and down. It was difficult to believe that this was the same girl that she had grown up next door to.

"It's an option," Ember said, shaking her head, "[Escort] is making me try on twenty dresses. This is the fourth."

"Why don't you just refuse?" Sera asked, "Like you usually do."

"I guess it gives me something to do… While JJ and Lucky and Jan are at home." Kindle and Sera flinched a little.

"At… Home?" Kindle asked, "This is your home."

"This place?" Ember looked around the sickly beautiful and ornate decorations in the house, "This isn't my home."

"And District Nine is?" Sera asked with a frown.

"More than this place."

"More than us?" Sera asked. Kindle shifted uncomfortably and looked at Sera, wanting her to shut up.

"It's not-"

"Hey! You can't go in there!"

The three girls turned their attention to the voice that had come from outside. They could hear the sound of feet pounding on the ground before a blonde figure appeared at the door. She was panting and clutching her stomach, and before she could even look at them the Peacekeepers were there taking a hold of her by the arms.

"Candace?" Sera asked in disbelief.

"Sera!" The blonde struggled against the Peacekeepers who were already fighting to pull the pregnant woman out of the house, "Sera, it's Aidan! He's, he's tried to _kill _himself!"


End file.
